


Strange Devices

by shiplizard



Series: Strange Devices [2]
Category: Dresden Files - Jim Butcher
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-06-19
Updated: 2010-06-19
Packaged: 2017-10-10 04:38:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 13
Words: 57,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/95573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shiplizard/pseuds/shiplizard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are strange circles popping up on the street; Harry's lab assistant is in trouble; Molly Carpenter is up to something; the world is about to end and it's going to start in Chicago.</p>
<p>Must be a Tuesday.</p>
<p>[Contains spoilers through White Night.]</p>
<p>This fic has been <a href="http://www.audiofic.jinjurly.com/strange-devices-audiobook">podficced by shadowkittycat</a> and compiled into a podbook by Cybel.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> It started as an odd experiment around the time White Knight came out to see if the Harry/Bob thing could work in the book canon, and then got tangled up in my 'I &lt;3 Golems' issues and turned into something else.

It's the little conversations that are important. Of course, they're the ones you always forget. The boring, tiny, important little details.

I was repairing Little Chicago with Bob. Little Chicago is a scale model of the city-- almost perfectly accurate. The city changes-- I have to change the model with it-- but I do my best to keep it up to date. The giant hole melted through the center, that wasn't life-accurate.

If I'd been a little less lucky, it would have been a giant hole melted through my head. I'd had a run-in with a member of what I called the Black Council-- a group of warlocks, destructive magic users, who were trying to... what? Bring down the White Council, I knew that much. Summon ancient, horrible things to earth.

You know the type.

That was just a small fraction of the fun I'd had over the last few months. Another adventure had involved the White Court-- vampires that fed on emotion. I used to think that they were the most reasonable, the most humane of the vampire. They seem so friendly. They're well dressed. Appealing. Very polite as they snacked on your soul.

Lara Raith was the current power that was in the white council, through the puppet figure of her father Lord Raith. She was also my half brother's half sister-- don't ask-- and she had nearly killed me. She'd been trying to help, and she had failed to drain my soul, so I was trying not to hold it against her-- much.

But she shouldn't have failed.

"She said the last person I was with was Susan," I mused to Bob, who paused in his direction giving to roll his eyes.

"I _know._ I suppose not having sex for four years is worth not dying, but only barely. If I were you-"

"But Bob," I stopped him. "Susan's not?"

The skull swiveled, the orange light in the eyesockets flaring with interest. Bob's voice was a full of delight and reproach. "Harry! You got laid and didn't tell me!

"You were there," I said, my brow furrowing. "Every time."

"Oh." The eye-lights rolled in their sockets. "That. You got my hopes up. Harry, that doesn't count. Not as far as a Raith is concerned."

"Why not?" I asked, frowning.

"Goodness, you're a puritan when it comes to sex magic." The skull sighed theatrically. "Sex as a ritual involves two people. At least two," he corrected himself immediately. "A meeting of nearly-equals. A mingling of similar energies. A joining-" his tone was getting steadily more lavicious. I cut him off.

"And that didn't happen."

"Of course not. Our energies aren't similar at all-- you're a human, a combination of spirit and all four elements and a bunch of fiddly energies. I'm a comparatively straightforward air spirit."

"I don't buy it. If you were that straightforward, you'd get hot for gentle spring breezes, not trashy romance novels."

"Academic interest," Bob told me, not for the first time. Not for the first time, I didn't quite buy it.

"You're sure? You aren't the slightest bit jealous about mingling energies?" I teased him.

"This from a man who hasn't mingled in four years."

"At least I _have._"

Bob was quiet for a moment, then his eyes flared to life and he snapped "Careful with that sigil! Do you want this whole place blown up?" I inspected the symbol-- not that dire a mistake, I thought. But I fixed it, and went on with my repairs.

 

* * *

Two days later, something unsettling happened. I'd gone out for groceries-- we were out of catfood, and dogfood; I'd woken up with thirty pounds of grey tomcat sitting on my chest as Mister stared into my face, paws on the mattress on either side of my face. I'd managed to dislodge him and rolled over and right into Mouse, standing beside the bed and giving me a doggy look of hurt and confusion.

The dual attack disarmed me-- grumbling, I'd taken some of the cash from my last case (a blessedly simple cat tracking and retrieval) and gone shopping.

When I got back, the apartment seemed odd somehow. Things had been rearranged. I wrote it off to my brownie housekeepers; they always left a tingle of energy around. I should have trusted my instincts, but I was busy with new information from the white council. I let it go.

A month later, I'd almost totally forgotten the incident. I was puttering upstairs, working on a new force ring, when the phone rang.

"Harry Dresden," I said cheerfully.

"Dresden." Sergeant Karrin Murphy. She sounded tense-- this wasn't a personal call. "Need you to come look at something."

"On my way. Um, is this--"

"You'll be paid. The department actually wants you here this time." Something about the statement seemed to amuse her, in a dark way. I could understand that-- she'd been busted down to Sergeant for getting involved in one of my battles. But why did they want me around this time?

I followed her directions out to a warehouse on the outskirts of Chicago, and found her, a few other department members, and a black and white.

Behind them, inside the empty warehouse, a magic circle was drawn on the ground in what looked like red spraypaint. It was a series of concentric circles, actually-- each ringed with dozens of symbols. But it didn't have an open center-- the circles got smaller until the symbols were barely legible, and at the dead center of it was a flat black stone.

That wasn't right. Circles are for holding things in, and then releasing-- or keeping things out. That requires an open center to do the holding or the protecting. I'd never seen something like this before, and I didn't like it.

Someone was taking pictures of it-- a forensics officer was kneeling at the perimeter, scraping at and grumbling.

Murphy gave me a wry look. "The city called me when they realized it didn't scrub off."

I cursed. Someone was serious about their ritual being uninterupted. It hadn't been used yet--there hadn't been a discharge of energy through it. No, this was waiting for something. Someone. I had an ugly feeling that I knew who, too.

"And they'd like you to politely ask all your weirdo friends if they're drawing on city property," Murphy said, cracking a weary smile. "Not that anyone said weirdo friends. I believe the official term was 'Wicca-satanist potheads.'"

I allowed myself to feel offended for a second-- not just for myself, but for the city's Wiccan and witch population. The Ordo Lebes weren't satanists, or potheads, and they certainly weren't leaving ugly graffiti all over the place.

"I think this is a little bigger than some stoned kids, Murph."

She nodded, her smile fading, replaced by resolve. "So do I." She's cute when she's intent, and her little turned-up nose wrinkles. You could almost forget that she's a blackbelt, not to mention a veteran cop who's looked vampires in the eyes and fought at my side against ghouls and demons.

Well, maybe someone could. I couldn't. I'd rather have her by my side than a tank.

"What do you know?"

"Nothing yet. I've never seen something like it before," I admitted. "I'll get on researching it, though. Call you the second I've got something." A thought struck me. "Keep track of any of the pictures that are taken of it, okay?"

"Already done. I'm getting the originals and they'll have to sign out the copies through me."

Murphy's a shrewd woman. And she knows more about magic than most non-magic users.

"It felt like bad news," she said simply, and handed me a Polaroid-- the circle. I tucked it with distaste into the pocket of my duster. "Be careful."

"Murph. Who are you talking to?"

"I know. Lost cause."

I started away from Murphy, to have a look around-- she stopped me. "Oh, hey. Did you know that your apprentice has been hanging around the morgue?"

Alarmed, I stopped dead. Okay, bad phrase. But: "What? No! What's she doing?"

This smile wasn't quite so weary. "Dating Butters, apparently."

I blinked. Center-less magic circles I could start to understand. Carefully, slowly, picking my way through the symbolism with the help of my books and my local spirit of intellect.

Molly Carpenter.

Waldo Butters.

Now that was just strange.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains explicit material

Back in the lab, I was hesitant to broach the subject of the magic circle. So I approached it roundaboutly, starting with Murphy's bizarre gossip.

"The cupcake and the mortician," Bob marveled. "Do you think it's for his looks or for his taste in music?"

I glared at the skull. "My apprentice is not a dessert item." And Butters was a medical examiner, not a mortician, but I could split that particular hair later. "I don't know-- he was attracted, but..."

"But he's a tiny little thing, isn't he?"

"Well..." He was. Murphy's height but probably not as muscular, frizzy black hair, beaky face. Older than her by at least five years-- oh, her mother was going to like that. Nothing like Molly's last boyfriend-- then again, Molly's last boyfriend was recovering from her magical lobotomy. Maybe she liked that Butters didn't have any vices, wouldn't cheat on her.

Maybe she was doing something stupid and using him. I had to consider that, too. I'd have a talk with him. And then her.

I was getting distracted. "That's not the reason she called me, though," I said. "This is-" I reached for my duster pocket, holding the Polaroid where the skull could see it.

Bob's eye lights flared. "I've seen something like this before."

"Good-- I haven't."

"I can't tell you specifically. I can't read those center symbols-- but that looks like a bomb."

"Really?" I lowered the photograph to look at Bob.

"Really. Not surprised you don't know about them-- they're out of style. Lots of buck, not much bang; they were flashy and impressive in the middle ages, but that's about all they're good for. Party tricks." He paused, muttering to himself-- some ancient language or another. "No, but that middle one. That's tricky. That might amplify an explosion. But that outer one is some kind of binding, it would contain everything-- Harry, are you sure this isn't a prank? This thing is silly. Useless."

I listened carefully for any evasion, but Bob seemed genuinely confused. Well, join the party.

"It was in a warehouse. An empty warehouse. Even if it was a bomb, who'd want to blow up an empty warehouse?"

"Maybe there was a shipment coming in that they would have put on it... or something... ask Murphy. Um, if you can get me more detail on the center--"

"Sure, Bob. I'll ask."

I'd been expecting something bigger. A gasp of surprise, some new horrible revelation-- and it was just a jumble. A muddle. Hell's bells, some group of teens who got rid of their own magical book. Learned a charm to make their paint permanent and threw some things together. I started feeling silly about my paranoia. I'd still have to find them, track them-- if whoever had done this had the gift, they had to be trained before they did something against the laws of magic.

I'd have to ask Molly, too. It was a long shot; she didn't know every teenager in Chicago. Not by a long shot. But she did have friends in the goth and horror scenes, both groups who might turn to flashy, dark-looking magic for fun and mundane-shocking purposes. Of course, spoiled rich kids are just as likely to dabble-- for attention, for a thrill. And poverty was a pretty good motivator, too.

But Molly was a good place to start.

"Okay. So I'll call Murphy and tell her that it's probably not dangerous. We're not going to slack off on this-- it could be trouble with the council again."

"Of course not."

"And we have to work on Little Chicago. And-" I paused. "-you know I need information on the Black Council."

The skull jumped slightly; there was the rattle of chattering teeth. "Boss."

"I know," I said, feeling guilty. The only member I knew for sure of on the Black Council—if it existed at all— was a necromancer called Cowl. Cowl had been the apprentice of Heinrich Kemmler, one of Bob's former masters. One who had been so cruel and evil that Bob had had to repress the parts of his essence that had been touched by him. Kemmler was dead, but Cowl had used the knowledge he'd left in Bob to try to become a god-- and destroy Chicago as a side effect.

Bob had stopped him.

"If I get close to Cowl again-- that he's alive-- I've already made him mad," Bob said quietly.

"Maybe he'll come after me instead. He kept calling you 'spirit', he treated you like an arcane rolodex. Just a tool--he might not even consider you as having betrayed him."

"So he'd destroy me to keep me out of the way and then come after you. Is that supposed to make me feel better?" Bob asked sharply.

"I'm running out of sources to turn to," I said.

"There'd better be a lot of romance novels in it for me," Bob said, sounding shrewd-- but he couldn't quite disguise the nervous quaver in his voice.

I let my gaze fall deliberately on a rolled up yoga mat in one corner of the lab.

Bob went quiet, his eyelights flickering. It was a while before he said anything.

"Are you sure, boss?"

"It's dangerous. Exhausting. You'd have earned it."

Another reason that I wasn't voicing was that Cowl frightened him. I didn't know if spirits of intellect could be reassured with intimacy the way that humans could, but I figured I'd offer.

"Your temper's been so much better. I was trying to break the habit," Bob said, but the eyelights in the skull were focused on the mat.

"Is that the only reason you made the arrangement in the first place? Because you thought it would calm me down?" I asked.

"...well, the first time."

"And this time?"

More silence.

"If you're offering," he said finally.

"Tomorrow, after you come back, and we've worked on Little Chicago for at least two hours. Deal?"

"Deal."

We settled down to work on Little Chicago for a while; when night fell, Mister padded down into the lab, seeming to know that he was needed.

"See you tomorrow," Bob said, just a little too brightly.

"Tomorrow."

Mister didn't so much as twitch a whisker as the spirit flowed from the skull and into him. He's used to it.

I watched them go, a coil of worry in the pit of my stomach. Cowl had taken Bob from me before-- and this time, knowing that Bob could and would betray him, he'd just destroy him. But Bob's always been my last, best line of information-- that or summoning a demon. I didn't do that anymore, for a few very, very good reasons.

The phone rang, startling me out of my worry. I bolted up out of the lab and made a grab for it.

"Mister Dresden," a woman's voice said, sharp and clear and extremely not happy.

Charity Carpenter. My apprentice's mother. Oh, crap.

"Hello, Charity," I said conversationally. "Can I do something for you?"

"Who have you been introducing my daughter to?"

I winced. "They met in a purely professional capacity," I said, resigned to the verbal flaying I was about to get.

"He's almost ten years older than her!"

"I didn't know about it! I was only told today! Now that I know, I could start going out on their dates, chaperoning-"

"Even you'd be better than Thomas."

My stomach made a jump for my throat. Molly had been hanging out with Thomas, too? Whose apprentice _was_ she? And he was my brother! What had they been up to? If he'd so much as nibbled on her essence, brother or not, I was going to tattle to Charity and let her go after him with the warhammer.

"Thomas is—" I almost said harmless, but that wasn't true. White Court vampires aren't ever harmless. "He wouldn't hurt Molly—you know that." My half-brother was slightly in her good graces; he'd along to rescue Molly from Arctis Tor.

"Watch your step, wizard. If Waldo wasn't such a nice boy, we'd be having this talk in person. If Thomas ever forgets to be a gentleman-"

I made a nonchalant sound of agreement. Something like 'gnnn.' I might have been trying to say 'please don't hurt me.'

She seemed to be considering my response. Apparently it was acceptable. "You didn't know. I believe you. But if you let anyone hurt my daughter-"

"No, ma'am," I said, very sincerely.

"Good. We understand each other. Goodbye, Mister Dresden." The phone clicked dead.

I slumped on the couch and put my face in my hands.

 

* * *

 

Mister padded into the lab at about two in the afternoon. He gave me an inscrutable feline look, and yawned widely. Orange energy flowed out of his mouth, darting through the lab and into the skull on the shelf.

"Hey, Bob," I said. "How was it?"

There was a long pause. "It's not great, Harry. I didn't run into anyone we know, but there's a lot of bad energy."

"Well hell's bells," I said, almost rolling my eyes. "There's a war on, Bob."

"Something different." Bob made a sucking sound—and without lips, teeth, or saliva. He has a talent. "Not vampires en masse. Ghouls, henchmen, stragglers. With surveying equipment."

"—that sounds bad, Bob."

"It does." The skull hissed. "I didn't run into Cowl. Like I said. But he's been around, Harry. Footprints. I thought he was dead-" Bob sounded miserable. Frightened.

"We knew he was alive." I gestured at the hole in Little Chicago, patched but still standing out. If I tried to use the model now, that patch would disrupt the flow of magical energies like a penny on a train track disrupts the flow of a train—with similarly destructive results. "So no surprise. And you're all right."

"Fine," Bob said brightly. I didn't buy it for a moment.

"You're all right." My voice was gentler--reassuring. "All right. Let's get to work. Show me on the model where those surveyors were—maybe while we can work we can figure out what they're up to."

"Right. Good idea," Bob said, still too clipped and too cheerful.

"It's good work, Bob. I won't ask you to go out again."

"Thanks, boss." The two words were quieter—-I could hear the relief in them. I shot the skull a reassuring look.

We worked.

Bob didn't mention it when we passed the two hour mark; he let me work until my stomach was grumbling. I glanced at the clock.

"Hey. We had an appointment, didn't we?"

"I didn't want to interrupt. You're no fun when I pull you away from something," Bob said, the tone in his voice implying a shoulderless shrug. "You need to focus."

"Considerate, Bob, but I think I've had all the focusing I can stand for right now. For one thing, I'm starving..."

"Wait till I get done with you," Bob said, the leer in his voice sounding just a little forced. "You'll want to eat a whole cow."

"I didn't realize that was one of your kinks," I said dryly.

"Well, actually, if you're offering, I'd appreciate it if you got a bottle of syrup or honey or something."

That was alarming. I had accommodated Bob by assembling a few very dubious props, but none of them had so far been edible.

"Uh, that had better not go anywhere that a quick shower won't take care of."

"No worries, boss. But you know how I feel about you getting oral."

I cleared my throat and stared at the opposite wall until my blush receded.

When I let Bob affect me, he wipes my inhibitions blank. I do what feels good—to a point. He's never let me hurt myself or damage the lab. But there are other, harmless things that I tend to enjoy. They just completely embarrass me when I'm not under the influence. For instance, Bob likes to light up the nerves in my lips and tongue. I enjoy kissing. Licking. Sucking.

Bob enjoys it when I enjoy sucking. He's had me look at it in a mirror on a few occasions.

"I'll... back in a minute." I went upstairs, and took a moment to cool down before opening the trap door again and heading back down to the lab with a jar of honey.

"That'll work," Bob said, his cheerfulness not sounding even slightly forced this time. "All right. Let's get this show on the road-"

"Keep it in the lab, Bob."

I sighed, taking a breath to center myself, and started preparing. I'm always nervous beforehand. The ritual helped; first lay out the mat. A yoga mat, comfortable and soft; I spread it out on an empty expanse of floor. Unlock the small, nondescript box under one worktable, in case I wound up wanting a prop. Douse the kerosene lamps and blow out the candles. If I needed candles lit, I'd light them. Mostly, we did this by the light of Bob.

"Ready, Harry?"

I stood next to the mat, nodded.

Motes of orange energy poured out of the skull, drifting towards me. The energy spread out to envelop me, flowing under my clothes to cling to my skin.

First, the feeling of a rush of air—an ocean breeze over my whole body. It made my hair stand on end. My nipples perked up. Other parts withdrew, just a little.

Then... warmth. And a rush of sensation as every nerve seemed to jump to double capacity. The rough brush of denim against my thighs became fascinating; the cotton of my shirt sliding on my shirt was distracting. I flattened my hands over my flannel robe and sighed in pleasure. I knew how good it would feel when I was lounging on the mat in nothing but my robe. Or nothing at all—Bob would keep me warm even in the lab's chill.

There was a flutter of force over my hands and fingers. Not an order—a suggestion. Bob helped me strip, guiding me like a man curled around his girlfriend to teach her to play pool.

Not that I was particularly feminine. But the pool cue was an interesting image.

I shed my shoes and socks, kicking them into the darkness in the corner of the lab. I slowed down for my shirt.

"Harry, you tease," Bob murmured appreciatively.

"If it didn't feel so good, I wouldn't take so long," I told him quietly, stroking the cool, smooth surface of a button. "Hold your horses."

"Rather hold you." He squeezed me under my pants and I grinned, shutting my eyes.

"So what's the honey for?" I asked, leisurely pulling off my shirt and pitching it after my shoes.

"I like how you suck your fingers."

"I know you do. ...you know what I haven't done in a while?" My zipper undid itself with a flare of orange energy and I stepped out of my pants. "That clear toy you like, with the veins—think it's honeyproof?"

A wave of warmth broke over me—my reward for surprising Bob.

"Harry, you're terrible. You had me fooled with that prude act of yours."

I grinned, kicking out of my boxers and lying down on the mat, reaching for the jar of honey. It was a texture I hadn't felt before, warm and viscous; I popped a finger in my mouth to sample the taste.

"That's what I like to see." Tendrils of warmth stroked down my legs, up to my inner thighs.

"Mmm. Mm. Backseat driver," I said, reaching for another dollop of honey.

"I saw that movie!" Bob chimed in, and I laughed—dripping the honey down my arm. "Ooh, lick it off."

"Yes, Bob," I said, rolling my eyes. "Yuck. It's stuck in the hair." But I gave it a try—worth it, because I hit a hot spot in the crease of my elbow that made my hips buck.

"Harry, that looks obscene," Bob said, mock-sternly. "That's terrible."

"Mmph," I told him—might have been a 'hush' if my tongue hadn't been buried in my elbow. This wasn't anything I'd have considered before, but what else were these sessions for?

Information. Payment. Sure. But when else do I get to explore like this.

Something thumped on the mat by my elbow—the toy Bob liked. I remembered vaguely being extremely embarrassed when I bought. The shape was extremely suggestive. Made me blush, under normal circumstances.

But past the silly reactions—the texture of the little sculpted veins was more fun than should be. And Bob had the best reactions when I 'got oral' with it.

I smeared honey across the surface and licked meditatively.

There was a sudden squeeze—buttocks, legs, feet. Like half a dozen hands. "Damn it, Harry," Bob said, his voice tense.

"Your academic interest is showing," I chuckled and flicked a drop of honey off the tip. One of those invisible hands went directly between the legs and stroked. "Don't do that. I'm pretty close."

"You're so easy."

"You're easier." I licked a line from the bulge at base of the toy to the tip, and Bob flared bright.

His voice was a purr. "I'll let you come right now if you suck it."

My whole body was moving with the kneading hands, hips grinding down into the mat. I considered teasing Bob a little longer, but—I wanted it now. "Mm?" I wrapped my lips around the smooth, clear shaft, letting the head brush the roof of my mouth.

The half a dozen hands doubled and tripled, pinching, playing, stroking JUST where they felt the best—Bob was as desperate as I was.

My hips thrust up and I threw my head back. Silent.

All the metaphors. Falling. Flying. Melting. Something. I rolled onto my back, the back of my head hitting the mat.

For a few minutes I just breathed, enjoying how relaxed my muscles felt, how there was a residual tingle all through my body. "We should do that more often," I said after a while.

"I know. But convince you of that." Bob said with a breathless sigh.

"You should," I told him. I usually said that at this point, drunk on relaxation and the feeling of complete peace.

"I try." He tsked. "Ready?" Well, no I wasn't. I knew what was coming; tensions and awkwardness. But I had to resign myself to it. Bob's voice was almost fussy; "Put your robe back on—you'll get cold." The flannel itself tugged up over my shoulders, and I slid my arms through the sleeves.

The warmth slowly faded out of my skin, the sensations dulling as my nerves eased down to normal function.

This was the part I didn't like. The chill settling into me, the sense of disappointment and the empty feeling that I should be spooning with someone. Preferably female, long legs. And the inevitable embarrassment.

I'd gone for the one Pyrex dildo again. I groaned. And I had to put honey on my shopping list, because I didn't think I wanted to use this particular jar for anything involving food.

I opened my eyes again.

Bob wasn't back in his skull. He was hovering over the table, a nebulous cloud of light. I stuffed down the embarrassment to deal with later and hauled myself to my feet. At least I could stand up comfortably this time.

"How're you feeling, chief?"

Back to the false cheer. I frowned. "Good. Satisfied with the deal this time?"

"Always." The cloud roiled. "...Cowl wouldn't bother coming after me, would he?"

"No, Bob. I don't think he would," I said. He'd treated Bob like a magical encyclopedia, not a thing with a consciousness. He wouldn't come back after him—he didn't need him, the ritual from the Word of Kemmler hadn't worked.

He wouldn't come back for Bob.

"He won't come back. He won't get you again."

"Harry, if-" And Bob cut off, drawing into a small, tight point of light.

"What?" I crossed my arms.

"Never mind." He pulsed fretfully for a moment, flickering to each side.

"Tell me, Bob."

The light darted back into the skull suddenly. "Is that a command?" The skull asked.

I paused, considering, and then shook my head. "No, it isn't."

The light in the eyesockets blinked out, and I paused before heading up the stairs.

In general, what scares Bob scares me. He's a creature of the Nevernever; flighty, fairly (make that extremely) powerful, mostly unconcerned with mortal problems. Whatever makes him sit up (figuratively) and take notice is going to be worse than usual.

And on another level—well, I considered Bob sort of like family. An annoying cousin, maybe. A very distantly removed annoying cousin, considering what he did to me sometimes, but family nonetheless. I didn't like him being so scared, and I didn't like not being able to help.

I cleaned up and left. I had to focus on other things now.


	3. Chapter 3

I dialed the Carpenters' house with a feeling of dread. I hoped that I got Molly—with my luck, I'd get Charity.

A male voice answered the phone. "Carpenter residence."

I sighed in relief. "Michael? It's Harry."

"Harry! How are you?" It wasn't smalltalk, either. Michael has been along on some of my really ugly cases, and I might not have come back from some of them if he hadn't been along. Strike that; no might about it. But there was a time when if I was calling, it was because there was a problem, or I needed help.

No ghosts to fight today: "Is Molly around? I want to talk to her."

"She's out with Waldo," Michael said. "Harry, I trust you with her life, but—I'm a father. I have to worry a little about the people you're introducing my daughter to."

"Charity told me. I really didn't know, Michael—they met once." And I wasn't going to tell him how. I'd needed Molly to read a corpse for me, to concentrate on the last memories of a woman who'd died. The reaction she had gotten, while harmless, wasn't something her father would want to hear about. "But Butters is a good guy."

"He likes polka, Harry," Michael told me.

I shut my eyes and nodded. "I know. He does a one man act."

"She's starting to listen to it at home."

"...I'm sorry?" I said plaintively.

Michael chuckled, but quickly sobered. "We've talked. He'll treat my daughter with respect. And Thomas has mostly been along with them—which is something." He sounded a little dubious. Michael is a knight of the cross; though he had met Thomas, and his involvement in Molly's rescue put him a step above your average soul devouring monster, Michael still didn't entirely trust him.

I trusted him. But I was a little dubious about this, too.

Michael continued: "She's been going out a lot recently. There's a coffee shop they go to, if it can't wait, near Thomas' work. Or she may have her phone."

Okay, I'm jealous. Molly has a very delicate magical touch—which means she's been able to maintain a cell-phone for a few months now. An older model, not much smaller than a brick, but it's more than I can manage.

"Thanks. I think I know the coffee place." I sighed.

"Is there trouble?"

"I don't think so." I explained briefly about the magic circles, and Michael made a disapproving sound.

"Magic shouldn't be dabbled with that way. Harmless or not."

"No," I agreed fervently. "I'm hoping to nip it in the bud before the White Council has to step in."

"Thank you." A pause. "Father Forthill told me that you gave him the Blackened Denarius. What happened to Lasciel's shadow?"

"Burned out of me." I didn't feel like going into further detail. The shadow had made a choice. She'd chosen to save me at her own expense, and I didn't know quite how to feel about it.

"Good, Harry." Michael sounded relieved, and the warmth in his voice made me feel like a heel. I hadn't responded very nicely when he'd tried to help before. He'd asked me to lay aside my power, instead of becoming a demon... I think the words I used were 'fuck that.' It had hurt him—and he still cared. No hint of chiding in his voice, just genuine relief and happiness for a friend.

Ouch.

"I'll tell Molly you called," he told me.

"I'll go out and find her. But thanks."

I hung up and grabbed the keys to the Beetle. I might have waited, but I felt like checking up on Molly. I certainly owed Michael that much.

The coffee shop near where Thomas worked was, as I suspected, actually in the same building.  
The Coiffure Cup is a coffee-shop and boutique. Cute, right? Thomas worked there, but didn't like to spread around that he did. I was surprised he'd told Molly in the first place. He obviously hadn't told Michael.

I spotted Butters first; he stood out, among all the manicured, well-coiffed women. He wasn't manicured or well coiffed—well, no, I take it back. His hair looked a little more tame than usual, almost chic; maybe he'd been taking advantage of the boutique in back of the shop. Beside him, hair blessedly untouched, was Molly Carpenter. They were talking.

I'd been spotted, too; several women pointed at me and started to whisper conspiratorially with their friends.

Did I mention that as far as Thomas' clients are concerned, I'm his boyfriend? No, I didn't think I had. But I don't mind being my brother's beard, if it means that nobody starts a relationship with him. He's White Court, after all; sex with him is addictive, and occasionally fatal. Besides, he has a girlfriend. Not that he can touch her. True love is poisonous to the White Court, and he and Justine love each other very much.

Speak of the vampire; my brother appeared, balancing three cups of coffee. He set one each in front of Butters and Molly, and sipped the last one delicately.

I opened the door in time to catch Butters saying "-completely done." Molly's face burst into a smile and she grabbed his hand, pecking him on the cheek.

How long had I been completely unaware of this?

"Thomas," a woman trilled. "Harry's here."

As one, the three people at the table turned to me. Molly looked startled—tall blond deer in the headlights. Butters' eyes darted to Molly, and then he looked sheepish.

Thomas just drew in a breath, and nailed on a smile that probably weakened the knees of every woman in the room. "Allo, 'Arree! What a nice surprise," he cooed, in his 'Toe-moss the gay French beautician' accent—which is so thick you could build a bomb shelter out of it.

"Hello, Thomas," I said, beaming back. "I just wanted to drop by for a cup of coffee. Say 'hi' to some friends. Hi, Waldo." Butters gulped. "Hi Molly! I didn't know you came to the Cup."

"Just for a while. It's a nice place to hang out," she said, smiling back, desperately casual.

"What are you drinking?" I moved over to the table and pulled a chair over. The smell of alcohol drifted up, and my eyes narrowed.

"Molly, that's not an Irish Coffee, is it?" I asked, smiling pleasantly for the benefit of the other customers. "Because you know your dad would kill me," I added conversationally.

Butters reached over and switched the two cups. "That's mine. They must have gotten switched."

I didn't know if I bought it. I was going to let it stand... for now. An uncomfortable silence settled over the table.

"Thomas," I said brightly. "Can you get me a coffee? Thanks so much."

He took the hint and left me alone with Butters and Molly.

"So long have the two of you been dating?" I asked, with an open, friendly expression that fit with the pleasant atmosphere of the coffee shop.

"About a month," Molly said, and seemed surprised by the answer.

I'd been young once. You could pack a lot of relationship into a month.

"So... how?"

"She stopped by to ask about a school project. I helped out. I... uhm..." Butters looked at Molly with a slightly dazed expression.

"He asked me out to dinner. I said yes." Molly patted his hand.

I looked between the two of them—Molly was nearly a foot taller than Butters, built like an athlete or one of the healthier models. Butters was thin and gawky. Thick glasses—wait, those were new glasses. Along with the new hair, they made him look a little less hawkish. I didn't need three guesses to figure out why he'd made the change.

"You were going to tell me?"

"Soon," Molly said, nodding.

"...great." I let my happy face slide just long enough to massage the bridge of my nose. I felt a headache coming on. "So. Molly. I came to check on you for your dad—and to ask you about something. Can you spare a minute?"

She looked at Butters first, and then nodded. "Sure."

Butters stood up. "I'll go help Thomas with the, uh, coffee."

When he'd gone, I pulled the Polaroid out of my duster and offered it to her. "Ever seen this before?"

Molly looked at it for a minute, and shook her head. "What is it?"

"I don't know." She started to hand it back, and I shook my head. "Do you still talk to your friends from Splattercon?"

"Yeah."

"Can you ask around? I think this may be from a movie, or an album cover. It's not anything I know. If it's kids experimenting, I need to stop them before they get into trouble," I said quietly.

Molly's eyes snapped up, and she nodded. All of a sudden her face looked older. We shared a moment of understanding. Both of us had gotten in trouble, as kids. Well, hell, Molly was still a kid—it had been less than two years since I took her under my wing, rescued her from the judgment of the Merlin. Both of us were under the White Council's Doom of Damocles. Neither of us wanted another young person to get in trouble. Ignorance of the laws of magic is no excuse.

"I'll ask. I'll call Sandra right away—I'll have her get in contact with everyone she can."

The convention head would have the names of hundreds of people in the goth and horror scene. Perfect. Only I suddenly had the image of a lot of little Polaroids floating around, and Murphy with a couple dozen enthusiastic copy-cat circles on her hands-- "Thanks. Don't, uh-"

"I won't spread copies of the picture around."

I smiled. Molly was learning magic—but even better, she was getting the hang of common sense.

A shadow loomed over my shoulder, and arms snaked around my neck.

"'Arry, my dove," Thomas gushed into my ear, and I bit my tongue to keep from laughing. "Let the children 'ave their tête-à-tête. Come with me to dinner."

"What's the occasion, Thomas?" I said innocently.

"You haven't been out of the house in a month. That's the occasion," Thomas muttered in his usual voice, under the guise of a peck on the ear.

"That sounds lovely, darling," I told him, patting him on the cheek. A chorus of muted giggles greeted the gesture; Thomas' pretty clientele obviously approved. "You have to take me someplace fantastically expensive, of course, so I'll know you love me."

Thomas groaned almost silently and flicked me on the chest. "How about Mac's little bistro?"

I weighed soaking my brother for a fancy dinner against one of Mac's huge steak sandwiches and a bottle of his home- brewed brown beer. "You know what I like."

Thomas untangled himself, flicking me on the ear as he did so. I bit the inside of my cheek and tried not to ruin everything by breaking out into snorting laughter.

"We're going to grab a snack, okay?" Molly said, looking like she was biting down the giggles, too. Butters just waved, looking bemused.

"Great. Go have fun, guys."

They disappeared out the door, holding hands and laughing.

I shot Thomas a look. "You didn't do Butters' hair, did you?"

He helped me to my feet with a gentlemanly elbow in the ribs. "'Arry, my leetle turtle. Do not be jell-oss. Cass-ahn-dra did his hair."

I lifted my chin haughtily. "Damn straight, babe."

We made it out to the Beetle and collapsed, laughing too hard to make a sound.

 

* * *

 

The next day started off a good day. Dinner at McAnally's with someone I was friendly with was rare and rejuvenating. Less rare but equally rejuvenating were the bottles of Mac's homebrew that Thomas had bought for me.

Someone rang at the door while I was knee deep in a dusty old text—looking for any mention of the centerless circles, just in case it didn't turn out to be an album cover.

I opened the door, expecting Molly, Thomas, Charity—

It was a young woman. A client, if the faded phonebook scrap in her hand meant anything.

The ad said:  
_HARRY DRESDEN—WIZARD  
Lost Items Found. Paranormal Investigations.  
Consulting. Advice. Reasonable Rates.  
No Love Potions, Endless Purses, Parties, or Other Entertainment_.

The ad gave the address of my office, but my apartment was listed in the yellow pages, too. Obviously, whatever was bothering her couldn't wait for office hours.

She could have been any rich college student. Pretty young woman, slender and platinum blond. Long legs that I shouldn't notice. She was Molly's age.

But her expensive clothes were rumpled; her subtle, cute makeup was running. And there was a bluish shadow under one eye that her makeup didn't quite cover.

I felt a surge of anger. Call me old-fashioned. I have problems with women getting hurt.

"Can I come in?" she asked, her voice quiet and shaken.

I wanted to tell her yes. I almost did. Instead, I said quietly—"That's your choice."

I hated having to be so paranoid, but I couldn't just invite her across the threshold. There are demons that can change shape, or steal bodies. If she was a plant, I had to make her leave her energy at the door.

She stepped through, a satchel sliding off of one shoulder to land outside the door. She ignored it, moving numbly through the door. My wards didn't so much as flicker; she was clean, no magic on her. Mouse was sleeping in my room nearby, and he would have woken up if he didn't like her smell.

"My name's Harry," I said quietly, offering her a seat. "What can I do for you?" She sat down, folding her hands in her lap.

"My name is Meghan. It's... my boyfriend. He-" she broke off, her voice sounding choked.

"Is this something you should go to the cops about?" I asked in an undertone. "There are hotlines-"

"The cops can't help," she said, not meeting my eyes. She looked past me, her eyes bloodshot and starting to glisten with tears. "He's into something weird. Like, really weird. I tried to tell him I was scared, but he-" she bit her lip and her eyes shut. Her fingers slid up to touch the bruising.

"Okay. Just tell me," I said, leaning forward.

"I could—my bag. I have some stuff in my bag." She started looking around blankly.

"Outside the door," I told her gently. "Do you want me to bring it in?"

"Can I bring it in?"

"Of course." She got up unsteadily, and I stood to give her a hand. She leaned on me to the door, and grabbed her bag.

As she dragged the satchel inside, my wards twanged like a plucked string, with a jangle that resounded in my teeth. "What's in there-"

Meghan turned to me, face suddenly flat and emotionless. Her hand darted into the bag and came out with a spray can.

I flung an arm over my face, but I still caught some of the mace. It clogged my nostrils and made my tongue and lips burn. It took most of my self control not to scrub at my face—the stuff was on my hands, too. I needed to get to the sink—

Then there was a sensation like a kick impacting my whole body at once. My muscles spasmed and jerked painfully; the floor smacked me full in the face.

I'd been maced before. And tased before. Never at the same time.

Mouse started to bark, loudly. Meghan shrieked and bolted—not out the door, but into the apartment proper.

My muscles weren't responding; it gave me time to think. And to mentally kick myself a few times-- Meghan was obviously someone's hired help. Custom-tailored as bait for every chivalrous instinct in my body. Not a bad actor, either.

Hell. That creak was the hinged door that leads to the subbasement. My lab. Meghan wasn't a magic user, but the amount of damage someone could do down there with just a hammer made my blood run cold.

I forced an arm to respond, propping my torso on one elbow. Then the other. My limbs felt like they'd been asleep, tingling and aching and not listening to what I wanted them to do; lying down seemed like a very good idea.

Teeth seized my sleeve gently and shook; Mouse had stopped barking. Thank God; I'd have been deafened if he'd tried. He licked my face and nudged me up, whining. I had to lean heavily on him to stand, but he got me up.

"Where'd she go?"

Mouse dragged me to the door to the subbasement—shut. I wrenched it open with a groan; from down the stairs I could hear Meghan chanting again; her words were badly accented, unfamiliar. Not her spell; just something she was reciting. I heard the word 'hunt', I think, in badly conjugated Latin.

There was an inrush of energy, and I swore. She wasn't using her own energy for this, she obviously didn't have it to use; someone had provided her with a few magical artifacts and pointed her. But it was working.

Thinking unkind thoughts about trained monkeys, I half-stumbled down the stairs.

I got there in time to watch Meghan dump something black and viscous out of a bottle on Bob's skull.

"HEY!"

The girl jerked away from the wall, flinging the empty bottle at me. It bounced off my arm harmlessly.

"Don't touch me!" she yelled, grabbing for the little stun gun she'd left on my table. "I'll tell them that you—ew!" she jerked away from the shelf, staring in horror.

The black liquid was writhing, crawling through the skull's eye sockets. It bubbled like tar and ate away at the bone.

"Bob?" I whispered.

"Ew-ew-ew-ew-ew," Meghan said, shrinking back.

It was over in a few seconds. The black liquid lost its energy and evaporated away with an ugly hiss. Where it had been, the bone was pockmarked and aged, covered with thick black cracks.

"Stars, Bob, no." I whirled on the girl. "What did you do?"

Meghan backed up, brandishing the stun-gun. "Uh-uh. I'm leaving right now. If you try to keep me here? I'm telling the police you tried to rape me."

I blinked at her.

Then I held out my hand. "_Vento servitas!_" My staff smacked into my wrist, and I sent energy through it. It glowed as I focused my will in it, and with a wave and a murmured spell, the candles in the lab flared to light.

Meghan shrieked and flattened herself against the nearest wall.

With a gust of wind, the heavy hinged door to the subbasement swung shut.

"You could tell the police that," I said quietly, letting my staff touch the floor. I stood there, the only light from my staff and the candles.

"Or you could sit quietly until they come. And tell them that you assaulted me." My voice was low and cool and even. "And explain what you came here to do. And who sent you. I would recommend doing that."

I don't know what my face looked like, but it made the girl cower away.

"But that, Meghan, is your choice. It's always your choice."

 

Meghan chose. She sat shivering and crying on my couch while I called Special Investigations; Mouse sat on his haunches and watched her, doing his impression of a brick wall.

While I waited for Murphy, I went down into the lab to search for damage. Nothing else had been damaged; all that had been touched was Bob's skull. It was empty and broken. It had cracked, leaving jagged holes where pieces had fallen in. The spirit that had lived in it was simply... gone. There wasn't even a shred of energy left—no magical residue from the potion, either, nothing I could identify or track.

I had told him that Cowl wouldn't get him. I'd told him he'd be safe.

Suddenly, the bottles of brown beer waiting in my pantry seemed less like a celebration and more like necessary, possibly insufficient medicine.

I'd told him he'd be safe.


	4. Chapter 4

It never rains but it pours. The weeks after the attack on my apartment were filled with one ugly surprise after the next, from all sides. One after another, dropped into my lap, some of them from people I considered friends. Even in my own damn lab.

It wasn't a good week.

On Monday, it was Murphy, stopping by my office with a folder of evidence.

Meghan, winner of America's Next Top Henchmodel, had cracked like thin ice. She had spilled everything she knew; it wasn't much. But there was a little sheet with the bullet-points of her confession.

Item one: Word of Keebler?

I almost threw something through a window. Not demonically induced rage; I controlled the impulse. I controlled my frustration at myself. I'd _told_ him, dammit, that they wouldn't try anything...

The rest of the list was useless. She had been contacted through e-mail, met a man once. She'd done it for cash, for excitement, and mostly because the man had told her to. She couldn't describe him, and had been visibly and (Murphy thought) genuinely distressed by her inability to describe the man.

"A glamour," I said tiredly. "Maybe a compulsion on top of that."

"I had someone I trust go over the coffee shop where they met," Murphy said, looking up at me, sympathy on her face. "No prints. No left items. The staff remembers her but not him. He didn't order anything. No leads—I'm sorry, Harry."

"It's not your fault. He knew what he was doing. And he threw her straight to the wolves, he had to have known..." I smoothed my hands across my face.

"Do you know who it is?" Murphy asked. "What did he want?"

"It was Cowl. Or someone who works for him, maybe Greycloak."

"Cowl was part of that group—Halloween, the storm, and the blackout, right?" There was a definite growl in Murphy's voice.

"Yeah. He wanted my research assistant." I stared at the desk. "Bob was a spirit. He kept notes for me. He was a friend. And he knew more about Cowl's magic than anyone else on our side than I know of. Cowl was using him, because he knew so much—and he stopped him. He stopped the whole thing, he saved Chicago. And he just destroyed him."

"Harry-" Murphy looked appalled. "I can't get her with a murder charge. They won't accept that."

"Hell's bell's, Murphy, she didn't know what she was doing! She didn't even know that he was in there. She didn't understand."

"She tased you. She understands that!" Murphy shook her head shortly, sparks snapping in her bright blue eyes. "You could press assault charges. Trespassing."

"How rich are her parents, Murph?" I asked wearily.

"...very," Murphy admitted.

"I might be able to afford the lawyer. Thomas would help if I asked. But I don't have the time." I shook my head, and Murphy almost snarled. She looked so frustrated. How often did she see this? Rich kids. Doing stupid things because they could, and getting off. And some dark part of me wanted Meghan scared and punished for what she'd done.

I knew better. I had to. "She may be in danger at this point, too. See if you can talk her into community work—Saint Mary of the Angels."

Murphy nodded, her face tight. "I know where you're coming from. But Harry, what that kid did-"

"She didn't know." And I wasn't the White Council. "I scared her pretty badly."

"Not enough." Murphy took a deep breath, recentering and focusing herself. "Harry, this is a bad time, but I have to ask."

"The circles. No leads yet. Um, if it's a priority, I could start working on a potion to remove the paint-"

"There's another one." Murphy nodded at the folder. "There's the address and some more photographs."

"On it, boss," I said, giving her a determined, chin up smile that didn't quite come together.

Murphy looked at me for a moment, and then came forward and hugged me, tightly. I wrapped my arms around her back for a moment, trying not to lean on her. "I'll work on that potion. So the city can remove the circles."

"I'll tell our wanna-be actress about the church."

"America's Next Top Henchmodel," I said darkly, and we shared a mirthless smile.

That was Monday.

Wednesday I spent in my lab. Swearing at little Chicago. I'd set up markers where Bob had seen ghouls surveying. Seen from above, they formed a circle, with one point missing.

Then I'd put on markers for the two graffiti circles that Murphy had told me about. Guess what? The first circle, the one that had already been there when Bob went scouting, filled in the missing point. The second circle, that had come afterwards, was directly on one of the survey sites. So much for harmless graffiti.

I was brewing a potion as I worked—the most powerful cleanser I could find in any of my books. This wasn't teen dabbling, it wouldn't be a simple charm or spell that I could undo with a little finesse and a little magic. And it was more important than ever that these things get scrubbed off the streets.

It was going to be a pain. It was going to be dangerous.

It was going to be interrupted by a knock on the door.

I summoned my blasting rod and force-rings as I ran up the subbasement steps, slipping them on before I opened the door with an almost manic smile. "HI."

The man at my door—older, square-jawed, tight-face and as exhausted as me—did not so much as blink. "Warden Dresden. May I come in?"

I glared. "Warden Morgan. You may not."

Morgan glared at me. "Very well."

"Are you just here to yell at me? Because I don't have time," I said bitterly.

"I am here because of the circles that have been appearing on the city streets."

"I didn't put them there," I snapped.

"No," Morgan said quietly. "I do not have your freedom to associate with the city's police department. But the Council is not blind. We have examined them. I do not recognize them, and though several of the Wardens have tried, none of us can remove them. I don't believe that you're capable of that."

"...Oh."

Morgan almost smiled, I think, just to see me that off balance. Just a grim, smug little twitch at the corner of his tight, lined mouth. "You did not create the circles. The homunculus, on the other hand—did you think I wouldn't find out?"

"The what?" There. The universe was back in order. Morgan was accusing me of something completely ridiculous.

Morgan's eyes narrowed and he glared into my face, and his face settled into that sour, resigned look he gets when he can't pin something on me. "Someone has made one."

"Good to know."

In happier days, I don't think the White Council even would have been involved in this. Yes, homunculi can be very dangerous. Look up the Golem of Prague sometime. But more often than not, they're cute, harmless little vanities. Vainer, more established wizards sometimes keep them for odd jobs.

Make a humanoid form. Bind a spirit to it. It moves. They can be magical servants, they can be decorations—singing harps made it into a few fairy tales— or they can be weapons. Tireless, merciless, brutally strong constructs. That's IF the body you've made is made right, and if the spirit is strong enough to control it. It takes a really delicate touch to make anything better than a shambling hulk.

Fantastic. What a mess waiting to happen. And I didn't have time to track it down.

"Assuming for a second that I have nothing to do with this," I said to Morgan, "What are your odds that it's not connected to the circles, the war, or both?"

"I don't gamble," Morgan said shortly. He frowned, and admitted, "but I'm not optimistic, either."

The rest of Morgan's news was the usual—depressing and enraging. Wardens being attacked, cars bombed. Homes burned. No casualties this month, at least. He gave me the fish-eye the whole time.

Friday started with Thomas calling before I was out of bed.

"I have a guy you could talk to. He's, um, White Court, but—not really, he's—he could help you. His name is Robin-- he's been around a while, he could help you with your research-"

Replace Bob. With a White Court vampire.

"Goodbye, Thomas." I hung up and went back to sleep.

 

Thomas waited until I was in the office to call again.

"No, Thomas," I said shortly, but didn't hang up on him.

"Listen, Harry," he said firmly. "This guy could really help. Don't even think of him as White Court. He's a throwback; he's never killed, I don't think he can, he's just old and experienced. He's a bookworm; he probably knows about Kemmler and those circles. Give him a shot, Harry."

"Forget it. I don't know this guy from Adam, I'm not letting him waltz into my house and feed me information," I said, shaking my head.

Thomas paused; I heard a low voice speaking to him. "It's personal for him, Harry. He _wants_ to help."

"That's convenient. Him showing up right now."

"He's here because I brought him here!"

"I hope you kept the receipt," I said coldly. "Send him back for a refund. I don't buy this for a second."

Thomas' voice heated up with honest indignation. "No. I know him and I trust him. He isn't a plant-"

"Sorry, Thomas." I hung up on my brother for the second time that day.

Then I glared out the window for a while, hoping for a customer to distract me. I was careful not to use my Will; that's a pitfall for a wizard. You can influence people passing by, and then you get confused people wandering inside.

Not that that happened to me my first year with the office or anything.

I watched the passers-by and imagined them stopping. I got so into the people-watching that I was surprised when one of them actually DID stop.

He was tall—not as tall as me, but stately—and graceful. The way he paused outside the window, half-posing, made me think dancer. He didn't look more than mid-thirties, but his hair was prematurely and vibrantly white. He wore a sharp, simple black jacket, simple knit shirt, simple loose pants; they served to emphasize the clean, athletic lines of his body.

I don't generally notice the clean, athletic lines of other men's bodies. I REALLY wasn't used to my eyes lingering on certain parts of their anatomy. But I had to pull my gaze away from the curve of his ass, and it was an effort not to linger on the charmingly imperfect line of his lips and jaw...

By the pricking of my thumbs (or other, less cooperative parts of my anatomy), a White Court vampire this way comes. Thomas' bookworm, looking about as pleased to be here as I was to see him.

I collected myself before he saw me looking, and was sitting straight up at my desk with my hands laced in front of me when he came through my door.

The bell dinged, and I smiled. It didn't make it up to my eyes. "Robin Raith, I assume?"

"Wizard Dresden." He fixed his eyes on my face, but didn't meet my gaze; it's a trick wizards learn, and anyone who deals with them for long.

There was a quality in his voice that felt instantly familiar, and friendly. It made me want to trust him, to go and smooth the harsh worry off his face.

I hate White Court vampires.

"I was in Thomas Raith's apartment this morning. I got a pretty good picture of your attitude from the half of the conversation I heard," he said, quirking a white eyebrow. He had distinct accent—somewhere in the Appalachians, I guessed.

"And you showed up anyway," I noted. "I hope you're not expecting bus fare back."

"Oh, no. Your brother drove me."

I stiffened.

"Oh, yes, Wizard Dresden. I know that Thomas Raith is your maternal half-brother. I know lots of things. Including the details of Ms. Lara Raith's little muppet show. Like Sesame Street, but more incest." His eyes flashed, and his jaw set. "Knowledge is my stock in trade, after all."

"Is this a threat?" I asked, a cold anger starting somewhere in my stomach.

"It's just information. Gratis, me to you—so you could make an informed decision." He stood straighter, nearly meeting my eyes. "The way I see it, you pretty much have two options. You can let me help you, or you can kill me. But you can't let me walk out of this office pissed off."

 

* * *

 

I was going to throttle Thomas. For inviting this jackass to my city, for suggesting that he contact me, for allowing me to get put in this position. Blackmailed, in my own damn office, by a member of the White Court.

"Option three," I suggested coolly, facing down Robin Raith, keeping my temper firmly in check. "I can tell Lara Raith about the 'information' you're using as leverage, and let her take care of you. I guarantee it'll be much more interesting than if I did it."

"Oh, I know you can," Robin said, matter-of-factly. "I considered that part of option two. That's the destroy-me one? Either way, nobody's going to get too hot and bothered about it. I'm not powerful enough; White Court doesn't want me, won't claim me. Won't revenge me, not even to take a potshot at you."

I blinked. I'd been expecting him to hold the White Court over my head—if I killed a member of house Raith unprovoked, it could destroy the fragile peace attempts that they were sponsoring. Maybe the situation could be salvaged if the White Council offered me up for judgment, but either way, it wouldn't turn out well for me.

And he'd just admitted that that chamber wasn't loaded. And since he was still technically not human, the White Council wouldn't come down on me for violating one of the Laws of Magic if I killed him.

"What's the catch?" I said, keeping up my confident façade while I puzzled it out.

"No catch. I'm nobody in particular," the vampire said, keeping his chin up. "Not very powerful. Stayed alive this long by collecting enough knowledge to be useful, now and then."

"So what's stopping me from wasting you right now?"

"You are," he said quietly. "The last Heir of Kemmler—Cowl, he calls himself— tried to kill me not so long ago. In fact, he thinks I'm dead, or he'd still be trying. I'm safe, as long as I keep myself quiet, but someone I care about is still under attack. I can't bring him down alone. But I'm not stopping until he's dead, gone, and damn sure not coming back.

"This is me, trying to protect someone I care for. You can destroy me, if you think you have to. You can take that protection away from them. But I don't think you will."

My eyes narrowed. Meghan had played on my chivalry, too. She'd attacked me—hurt me badly enough that all I could do was watch as she destroyed a friend.

"Cute story. Show me."

I met his gaze.

He immediately ducked his head, lunged forward, and pressed his hand over my eyes.

I smirked under my impromptu blindfold, readying a blasting ring on my finger.

"That's not suspicious at _all,_" I said sarcastically. Refusal to accept a soulgaze wasn't proof of guilt—him throwing a punch, or trying to feed would be. And boy, he wasn't going to like what happened when he tried.

His hand pressed against my face, but he didn't move at me otherwise. No energy flowed between us, no power; just the heat from his skin.

"Cowl thinks I'm dead, Wizard Dresden. My life depends on my anonymity. The less you know about me, the safer I'll be," he said, his accent deepening as he emphasized each word.

"I know your name already, that should be enough to start searching by-" I stopped, my lip twisting. I knew the name he'd given Thomas. That didn't mean I knew his name. "Robin Raith isn't your name."

"No," he said softly.

"You are House Raith, though."

Now there was power, just a tickle of it between his skin and mine—for a sudden, wild moment I wondered if throwing him to the carpet and ripping his clothes off wouldn't be the best way to vent my anger.

I hate White Court vampires...

"What do you think?" he asked, and the feeling of lust subsided.

I took his wrist and shoved it away. "Sit down. We're going to talk."

When I looked up at him again, his eyes were shut in an expression of relief. He sat, sprawling gracefully in the chair in front of my desk, and looked at the woodgrain.

"Who are you protecting?" I asked sharply. "Don't lie to me."

"He's a human," 'Robin' said. "I'm not giving you his name."

"What's he to you?"

"A friend. First one I've had in a long, long time."

His voice was insidious. You _wanted_ to believe it. To sympathize with his exhaustion and his fear, to join in his righteous anger.

You just had to resist it. "Does he know what you are?" I demanded.

Robin's eyes flickered with what might be guilt, and he shook his head. "No. He doesn't. I'm going to tell him, though, if we both make it."

"Why didn't you bring him to me to protect?"

"I don't think you _can_ protect him," Robin said a little sharply, then added, "With respect, Wizard Dresden."

My eyes narrowed. "Why not?"

"For one thing, he's stubborn. He wouldn't take the help," Robin said, and I couldn't hear a lie anywhere. ...of course, I hadn't with Meghan, either.

"What can you do for me?"

"I have information and plenty of it. I've lived a good long while, done a lot of traveling and a lot of listening. Hell, I was around Europe while it was still Kemmler's stomping grounds; I collected anything I could find about him. Knowledge is the only power I've got, after all."

"Bullshit. You're White Court."

"No influence, Wizard Dresden. I'm an embarrassment. I got a little attraction and some longevity—that's about it. I'm not able to pull off the control you need to make it in that world."

I considered him, and realized that that made sense. He did have an undeniably Raith effect on me, but it was nowhere near the level of other White Court vampires. He was attractive, but in a very down-to-earth way. He definitely wasn't one of the flawless beauties that the Raith family seemed to turn out. At least, not the dangerous ones.

He reminded me of Inari. She'd been unaware of her nature, very human, pretty but not angelic. She'd been supposed to turn, to awaken her Hunger, by feeding on me. True love had stopped her; she'd never changed into one of those beautiful, deadly creatures. Not like her sister.

Robin wasn't completely human, but he seemed stuck somewhere half between.

Lara Raith had kissed me, and it had been unquestionable, inexorable bliss. I'd wanted to fall down on my knees and worship her; wanted to stand tall and defend her; wanted to be _hers._ She'd started to take my soul, and it had been cold, sweet cold...

Robin Raith had touched me, and it had been like the touch of an old, favorite lover. I'd wanted to tumble into bed with him, laughing, maybe hit him with a pillow if he got fresh. He hadn't fed, and his influence over me had been warm and comfortable. His touch was a suggestion, an invitation, but not strong enough to be a command.

Lara would have chewed him up and spit him out. He'd have been a Robin-muppet, serving mindlessly. That if she didn't just eat his soul. So maybe I believed him on that score.

If he was telling the truth, someone was in danger.

If he was lying, who knew what he could do to me, if I started sharing my research?

He wouldn't let me soulgaze him.

Thomas trusted him.

I made my decision.

"Be here at eight in the morning, tomorrow. I have something to show you."

 

Robin showed up at eight the next morning, red-eyed and exhausted looking. He slept in the Beetle as I drove him out to the warehouse where the first centerless circle was drawn.

Even while he was asleep I couldn't quite shake his influence. There was something familiar and comforting about his presence that soothed some of the hurts I'd been accruing lately. I wasn't about to trust it. I certainly wasn't going to reach over and brush a lock of white hair back up behind his ear. Nope.

I braked a little hard into a parking space, jogging him awake. Petty of me, maybe, but I don't like being manipulated.

He jerked awake, looking startled and a little frightened, but he regained control quickly. "Are we here?" he asked, voice husky with sleep.

"Yep. Out of the car," I said mercilessly, getting out of my door.

Special Investigations hadn't had anyone to spare on a graffiti case; the Chicago PD wasn't about to officially credit the potential threat of a magical bomb. And the warehouse was unguarded. I ducked through the police tape, waiting for Robin to join me.

He maneuvered through the criss-crossing tape with entirely too much grace for someone as tired as he was. I rolled my eyes.

"What do you think?"

Robin opened his mouth—and then closed it.

"...gimme a minute," he decided, and moved closer.

I waited while he traced the outer circle, reading the runes off. Then the next one. Then the next one. I don't think he blinked once, and he didn't have to go back and re-read anything, either. Circle by circle, the look of confusion on his face grew.

Then he started reading the symbols around the third circle from the middle, and his eyes flared wide.

"Hell," he whispered, but it echoed through the empty warehouse. "Damn me for an amateur. Why didn't I see?"

"What is it?" I asked, and he held up a hand without looking up.

He read to the center, his naturally fair face going paler. "It's dynamite."

"I knew it might be a bomb, but I thought they were useless," I said, moving closer, trying to see what he'd seen in the symbols.

"It's not supposed to destroy something. Not on this plane, anyway." He gingerly prodded the stone in the center of the circle; it didn't react. "It's supposed to blow a hole in reality."

"To the Nevernever?"

"Further." Robin looked up, meeting my gaze for a startled second before he jerked his eyes away. "Harry, we have to destroy these things _now._"


	5. Chapter 5

I glared at my brother over a scone and a coffee. I'd ambushed him during work—again--and now we were speaking in hushed tones. We had a crowd of perfumed, manicured onlookers—I tried not to think of them as rich gossips. I really tried. But they were hanging on our every muted gesture.

I could do lover's quarrel.

"Thomas, I should throttle you," I whispered. "That pain in the ass tried to blackmail me, did you know that?"

"Harry, um." Thomas had had to drop his accent, and he whispered so that the customers wouldn't hear. "I'm sorry. I am. He's... he's crotchety."

"Crotchety? He's a menace. He was going to sell us out if I didn't let him help."

"Well... he's... opinionated."

"He's a jackass. And he knows way too much about me."

"I'm sorry. But I know he can help." Thomas shot a sideways glance at our audience and reached up to touch my cheek.

I leaned closer. "Can he turn it off? Or is he doing it to piss me off?"

Thomas' eyes widened. "What do you mean?"

"The incubus thing."

"Um. He... can't turn it off. He just affects some people that way," Thomas said, giving me a strange look. He pulled back, with a hesitant smile.

"I'm not convinced," I said, loudly enough to be heard. "But I'll try. Okay?"

Thomas' face softened into one of his super-model smiles. "Darling 'Arree, you are so good to me."

Our audience sighed and relaxed. Roll credits.

 

Robin was staying with Thomas. I could call him, ask him to come over to the office. Thomas was at work, and I liked the idea of him on the bus.

But hey, Harry the Drama Queen was already out. Why not use him?

I drove to Thomas' apartments—his extremely beautiful, extremely expensive apartment—and stalked through the door with my head held high. The doorman didn't blink.

Thomas had put me on the guest list after an unfortunate incident with security—the first time I'd ever had to don Harry the Drama Queen's stylish hat. Like the women at the Coiffure Cup, the security here knew me as Thomas' high-strung, emotional boyfriend.

I certainly wouldn't take advantage of that to embarrass and otherwise bother Robin Raith. Not in the slightest.

Deep sigh, strut through the door with my spare key—

Robin Raith looked up, startled, from his seat on the couch. He immediately dropped his eyes away from mine. I slammed the door, and he winced.

I realized that he looked exhausted. He was drooping visibly, and his eyes were bloodshot. I wonder if he'd even slept since I saw him yesterday. He'd been tired then, but this was full exhaustion. It could have been faked, but...

"Wizard Dresden," he said, after a long pause. He moistened his lips and made a motion to rise.

"No, sit," I said gruffly. "I was going to ask you to for help. But if it's a bad time, it can wait."

He shook his head and stood up, looking a little like a puppet with tangled strings. "Been having trouble sleeping," he said, voice rough under his liquid Tennessee-or-parts-nearby accent. "I can stay here and not sleep, or I can go help you and not sleep."

"All right," I said grudgingly. I'd been planning to play the horrible jealous boyfriend, tossing Robin out onto the street in a huff. I might have tripped him down the front stairs in the interests of accuracy. It wouldn't be much fun now. "You want to help. Respectable. But I was going to ask for your help in the lab; Thomas says you know potions."

"I do," he said, jaw lifting.

"Two problems. One, we'd be working in my lab. Lots of glass bottles. Two, my lab is in my home. And I'm not planning on inviting you in. You think you're tired now..."

"This is physical, Wizard Dresden. I can cross your threshold; it won't do me much worse." He straightened, and I saw the effort of will it took to stand tall. He set his shoulders back.

"Right. I should tell you," I said, clearing my throat. "We may have to put on a little show leaving here."

"Because you're Toe-moss Raith's catty lover." Robin's mouth quirked up, amusement showing over the exhaustion. "And he's obviously been swayed away by my good looks and imagination."

"You know too much," I told him, feeling a renewed willingness to shove him down the stairs.

He just shrugged, and gave me a little smile that was almost perfectly smug. Almost; the bottom fell out of it a little when he yawned.

I led him out of the building and into the Beetle, giving him a little shove on the way out the door for the benefit of building security, and pulled into traffic.

He relaxed, but didn't fall asleep again. I watched him make the effort out of the corner of my eye; he tensed his jaw, moderated his breathing, held off sleep.

"So what's the big problem sleeping?" I asked. "Is this magical? Should I know about it?"

"I don't think that it is." He shook his head and blinked. "It's just some recent stress, you know how it goes-" Yes, I did. "-and it's been hard sleeping away from home."

I was starting to have serious second and third thoughts about this. Even if he wasn't a plant, he wasn't going to do me much good exhausted. One slip of a sigil or misremembered ingredient and I could blow a hole in something. Especially since what I wanted him to work on was a solvent for those circles; I imagined a super-acid eating through my worktable, the sub-basement floor, the earth below it—

"So if it's not magical, try a Benadryl," I suggested.

"...I should have done that, shouldn't I have." It seemed to amuse Robin; he shook his head, giving a self-deprecating little smile. "Sorry. I'm not quite on the ball yet."

I rolled my eyes. "Great. Working the knowledge, there, Robin."

He chuckled, resting his head against his arm. "I never promised common sense." He'd loosened up—from exhausted and strained to more punchy. He was smiling, again, showing uneven teeth.

It was cute, dammit.

We wound up parked in traffic, and I leaned back with a sigh. I watched Robin slip fitfully in and out of sleep; his eyes would flicker shut, then slit open a moment later with a look of disappointment. It almost hurt to watch.

"I have allergy stuff at home. Antihistamines. It will knock you out."

"Thanks, Harry," Robin murmured. "Because this? Sucks."

I gave him an odd look, which he didn't notice. He was trying to sleep again.

When we finally got to my apartment, he was back on his feet, looking a little farther from the brink of death. I opened my apartment door and gave him an expectant look.

He stepped over the threshold and gave me a wry look. "I'm melting," he drawled. "Oh, what a world." My wards didn't twitch.

The floor started to rumble, a cascade of thumps. Not unlike a cattle stampede, really.

"Did I mention the dog?"

Robin took Mouse in stride, staying very still while he was sniffed and examined. Mouse, examined him, sniffed him, and then gave me a puzzled look. But he didn't growl. And Robin Raith didn't seem phased by being in the presence of a dog whose shoulders were somewhere around his waist.

So I gave Robin a puzzled look, too.

"Mouse doesn't usually like vampires. At all."

"Good with animals?" he said with a shrug, and very gingerly offered Mouse a hand. I could see his eyes fixed on the big mouth full of teeth. Mouse sniffed it, and looked up at me, tail drooping.

"You don't have to play friendly," I told the dog, and he eyed the vampire for a moment before offering his head for a scratch.

"His fur's soft," Robin murmured, and bent down, entranced.

I stifled a groan as Mouse licked him, and butted forward for a hug. I was kind of hoping for an assist by the dog in this one. But at least Mouse didn't think he was a threat. And I damn sure wasn't going to let him bring any bookbags into the house.

"Robin. Any time," I said, and he looked up.

"Right. Right, I'm coming." He straightened up, brushing half-heartedly at the shaggy fur clinging to his suit jacket.

"Quick tour of the lab. Touch nothing until you've had at least four hours' sleep," I said shortly, and waved him back to the trap door down to the sub-basement.

"Yes, boss," he muttered, and I looked up sharply. He dropped his gaze immediately.

My eyes narrowed. On the one hand, he couldn't know how fresh the wound he was poking was. On the other hand, to hell with him. "Maybe you shouldn't talk until after the sleep, too."

"Maybe I shouldn't," he said, his smile fading again. He wouldn't look at my face; he'd misplaced all that confidence he'd come into my office with.

Good.

He was almost penitent as I led him down to the lab. "Fliccum Biccus," I said, waving a hand, and the candles sprang to life.

I heard footsteps stop on the stairs behind me, and turned.

Robin was rooted where he stood, eyes focused on the shelf where Bob's skull still sat. I hadn't known what to do with it. I could barely bring myself to touch it, and discarding it or packing it away was out of the question.

"Cowl did that," I said, my voice calmer than I felt.

There was a struggle playing out on the vampire's face, but he forced himself into composure before he spoke. "A spirit of intellect. You ... inherited it. From Justin du Morne. There are records."

"Him," I said sharply, and Robin blinked.

"What?"

"Him. Not it. _His_ name was Bob. _He_ was my friend," I said, trying to stay calm, forcing the words out in short, chopped little sentences. "He saved Chicago, and Cowl killed him."

Robin stared blankly at the sad little heap of bone for long seconds, and the candlelight made the moisture in his eyes glitter. He put a hand up to his face, and seemed startled when it came away wet.

I remembered that Cowl had tried to kill him, too, that somewhere out there he had a friend in danger. I wanted to hug him.

I hate White Court vampires.

"There are things I want to tell you, Harry-" he started, his voice hoarse.

"I don't want to hear it," I said, turning away. "And let's stick with Wizard Dresden, okay?"

He flinched, but nodded.

"Obviously you can't handle the lab tour right now. Go upstairs; I'll get you something to help you sleep."

Robin went back up the stairs and closed the door behind him. I heard the reassuring thump of Mouse's feet; he'd be supervised. Me, I sat on the steps and looked at Bob's skull for a while.

When I came back upstairs, Mouse was sitting by the couch watching Robin sleep. It wasn't the fitful in and out I'd seen in the Beetle; it was nearly a coma. He didn't even stir when I dug out a spare blanket and dumped it unceremoniously on top of him—he just lay there, with all the signs of life you'd expect out of a large rock formation.

Someone pounded at the door—I jumped. Not so much as a twitch from Mount Robin.

I glanced back at him, and then hurried to the door, looking through the peephole.

My brother's face looked back, pale with an artistic, attractive panic.

"Thomas?" I greeted him.

"Harry. Listen, I just got off work, and Robin's missing, and I-"

I held up a hand to stop him stepped aside. "Sorry. Maybe I should have left a note."

Thomas stared at the lump under the blanket. "He's sleeping."

"Yeah," I said, with a certain air of 'well, duh'. "He was exhausted."

Thomas blinked, and a look of relief settled over his face. "Harry, that's because he wasn't sleeping. Like, at all."

"Apparently my couch has the right feng shui," I said with a sigh. "He just passed out. I think maybe Mouse could wake him up, but short of that..."

"Wow. I was getting worried about him." Thomas paused, then opened his mouth and I cut him of immediately.

"No. No, no, no. You can move my couch into your house, but he's not staying here."

 

* * *

 

At least having Robin Raith spending every night on my couch meant that I could drag him down to the lab and make him work right away. Which I had, every day for the past week, as we researched the spell that had stained Cowl's circles into the streets of Chicago, until we could start trying to remove them.

"Life," the white-haired vampire said, steepling his fingers and looking at nothing in particular. He was perched gracefully on a stool on my lab, all legs and angles and charm: sleeping regularly had brought him back to the proud, confident jerk who'd showed up to my own damn office to blackmail me. And done wonders for his control over that aura of his-- I hardly wanted to kiss him at all, most of the time.

Being on my turf, in the lab, had settled down his domineering aspect a little. He was still too comfortable with lecturing me, though.

I was leaning across my lab table, glaring at the base for the potion that was going to scrub Cowl's circles right off the streets. It was one of the most complicated things I'd ever made, and not even Robin was sure what needed to go into it.

"The base has to be the essence of life, to cut through what Cowl's made."

"Sunshine?" I suggested, frowning. I used to be able to save sunshine in a handkerchief. But the thing about that? You have to be happy to pull that one off. You have to have joy in you. And the last time I'd tried it, there just hadn't been any joy to pull from. Maybe I could again. Maybe knowing I had a brother had restored some of the happiness that losing the love of my life had done to me.

"Bigger. Better. Sunshine's a good start."

"Hasn't anyone done this before?" I asked, looking at my shelves of potions ingredients and trying to figure out 'life'. Life to be seen, life to be heard, life to be smelt—all five senses, then an element for the spirit, and an element for the mind.

"They have. But they usually take a different approach."

"And we aren't taking that approach because—"

"Because you can either cut through Cowl's stain with life, or dilute and smudge it with more death. Do you want to know the death potion? That's the one they've always used," Robin drawled. "The base is the heart's blood of a sacrificial victim. For sight, a scrap of the skin from a hanged man. For smell, fairly predictably, decay. For mind, they have to get really nasty-"

"STOP." I glared at him. "I take your point. Hasn't anyone tried life?"

"A few have tried. And failed. And gone on to death, making the right noises about the end justifying the means."

I felt my lips thin out.

"They weren't as good as you. They certainly didn't have your resources." Robin's expression shifted as he thought, his mouth shifting; I could almost see the idea forming on his face. "If it's true you've got friends in the Summer Court, I'd start contacting them right now."

"Would knowing the Summer Lady help?" I said, deadpan.

Robin never reacted like I hoped he would. He just smiled, warmth spreading across his face. "It would be a very good start."

Suddenly, it didn't seem so hopeless after all. I felt my own slow smile break out. "I guess I have to make a few calls, then."

"I guess you do." Robin cracked his knuckles, looking satisfied. "There are parts of the potion you can make now, and save. In fact, if you bottle some of it now and let it sit in the sun, it will only help the cohesion."

"Hit me," I said, grabbing for a notepad.

"I've got a few," Robin said, drumming his fingers on one thigh. He seemed to be in the swing of things. "Sight—just go with sunshine. Smell—a plant, definitely, maybe grass? Something very green and very hardy. I'll have to think about the mind, the sound—um, get some holy water."

"For spirit?" I asked, scribbling a few notes in the margin with my own ideas for sound and mind.

"For spirit," he confirmed. "Use a heartbeat for touch."

"I don't know if I have one."

"Of course you do, it's—" Robin stopped, blinking. "It's ridiculous that you wouldn't have one or two lying around."

I scowled; I hadn't missed the way his arm had come up, as if he was about to point to something. "Bullshit that's what you were going to say." I crossed my arms. "You've been snooping around my lab."

Robin's mouth quirked into a hesitant, sheepish smile. "I wanted to know what we had available."

I sneered and rolled my eyes. "I'm putting a bell on you. And a padlock on this damn door." But I had a niggling feeling that I'd missed something important. Should I be worried?

...no. It didn't feel worrying. Just important. I got that sometimes with Robin—as if there was something I should be figuring out. But I hadn't had time, and it hadn't felt like something that was threatening me; the feeling generally passed.

"How about Chicago for the sound?"

Robin's eyebrow lofted. "Chicago?"

"The traffic. The talking. Any streetcorner."

"That's... not a bad idea. And since it's going to protect Chicago, the resonance might give it an extra punch," he said. "And there's a lot of energy in it."

"Now—shouldn't anything written work for the mind? I mean, language is proof of life."

"No. More punch than that. I'll have to think." Robin glanced around the lab, frowning. "You're going to have to make a lot of these potions. And each one has to be a decent size. One for each circle. That's going to take a while."

Thirteen potions, total. "You could get off your ass and help," I suggested sweetly.

The suggestion seemed to surprise him. I saw his gaze flicker, and the expression on his face was bizarre, at least. It was like he'd never seen his own hands before. "Oh. I—" He shook his head, sounding startled. "I'm sorry, Wizard Dresden. I'm.... it's.... old habit."

I snorted. "Is that what they're calling it these days? Because the word I learned was 'lazy.'"

It didn't seem to bother him much—he shook his head and grinned. "Don't you have phonecalls to be making?"

"You think I'm leaving you alone in here?" I shook my head. "Unlikely. Here." I presented him with an empty glass bottle. "Get out of here and get me the voice of Chicago."

"Sure thing, b—Wizard Dresden."

Sometimes Robin's accent seemed to waver. I wondered where he'd lived before Tennessee and for how long. He sauntered up the stairs with surprising speed—Wodehouse might have said he 'shimmered'. (Hey, I like vintage comedy, too. We wizards aren't all spell books and Tolkien.)

"Back soon," he promised, and shut the door behind him. I felt a comfortable smile on my face.

I called the friends who could put me in contact with the Summer Lady. I only hoped she'd help. Lily was a friend, but she couldn't involve the Summer Court in struggles just on my say so. But I was hopeful; the Black Council hadn't come out and declared war on anyone. So this wouldn't be stepping into a political mess. But they might attack Summer, if they figured out Lily had helped me, she'd have to take that into account…

I could only ask. And I did; I got through to Fix, the Summer Knight. He wanted to help right away, show up as fast as a car could bring him and start the legions of death. I made him promise to ask Lily.

Then all there was to do was wait and try to relax.

Yeah, there were just circles springing up like toadstools all over the city, to summon the things from beyond the Outer Gates. Just a necromancer who wanted me dead. That was all. Just relax.

I did busywork all day—banished Robin to the lab to make a weight loss potion so I could spend some time upstairs with Molly. Then at bedtime I relaxed myself right into acid stomach and a nasty case of insomnia.

I paced my bedroom for a while, and then went out to grab some Pepto and a bottle of beer.

The apartment seemed a little too empty, but it took two passes to catch it: I was tired, and not so quick on the uptake. But the heap of blankets on my couch was smaller than usual, and there was no shock of white hair on the pillow crammed against the arm.

I frowned, and very thoughtfully crossed back to the kitchen for another bottle of beer. Then I lifted the trap door to the subbasement. Candle-light spilled out, lighting my way down the stairs.

Robin was wrapped in a blanket, sitting against the wall and staring at Little Chicago with his lips pursed. He looked up and frowned at me.

"I didn't touch anything," he said warily, in a very familiar tone of voice. It's the same one I use when Morgan's come to accuse me of poisoning all the wells and making the cattle die.

"I believe you," I said, and handed him the second beer. He looked gratified, and moved aside so I could have my own patch of wall.

We stared at the little model in companionable silence, both working our way through the bottles of beer, him in his blanket and me in my flannel robe.

About halfway through my bottle, I had to make the obligatory comment. It's a time honored ritual, and it goes like this:

"So. Can't sleep, huh?"

Robin didn't seem irritated. "I don't need that much sleep. And it feels like a waste when there's work to be done," he said.

"We can't do much more with the potion until the Summer Queen gets back to me."

"I could work on this. I've seen models like this before—there's energy flow problems in this one. It looks like it was damaged."

"It was," I said with a nod. "Cowl. Blew a hole in it."

"Bastard," Robin said simply, and took a drink of his beer. I nodded in agreement.

"So. I might have something for the mind element of the potion," I said. "It came to me at about one am."

Robin looked expectant.

"How about a riddle?"

He frowned, his whole face furrowing in thought. "Make it a joke. It's a little lighter."

"What's black and white and read all over?"

Robin rolled his eyes. "You're an idiot, Har—Wizard Dresden."

"I'm actually getting tired of that," I mentioned. "Mostly people I don't like call me that. Harry's fine."

"Careful, Harry. I might get the impression that you don't entirely hate me."

"I'd like you better if you'd stop doing the succubus thing at me."

"Incubus," Robin said, lifting his chin.

"I'm a guy; succubus. Succu… bi… feed on men."

"Incubi are male entities. It doesn't matter who they feed on," Robin told me firmly. "It's not entirely intentional, I'm afraid."

"No?"

"No." He gave me a look through his lashes. "You're cute, Harry."

"I thought I was an idiot."

"You're a cute idiot." Robin seemed to be considering something; eyeing his beer dubiously as if the answer was hidden somewhere in the liquid.   
I snorted and settled back against the wall. Robin finished his beer and pulled his blanket a little tighter around him.

"This friend of yours," I said, shutting my eyes. "A lover, right?"

"Hmm. Sort of. Mostly just a friend. Sort of a clueless friend. He means well. Bless his heart," Robin added scrupulously.

"So what did he do to get Cowl ticked off?"

"More morals than brains," Robin said. "People were in trouble, so he threw himself right after them. He's not very bright that way," he added with fond disapproval.

"Good for him," I said firmly.

As we sat there, I started to get more and more aware of Robin sitting next to me. There were places where we were pressed together through my robe and his blanket, and they were warmer than where I touched the wall and floor. It was pleasant, not particularly urgent knowledge.

"Can I work on the model, Harry?" Robin asked quietly, and I forced my eyes open. My eyelids were heavier than they'd been a minute ago, I was sure of it.

"Under supervision."

He shuffled away from me, and I lost the warm-spots against my shoulder and thigh. I sighed, and supervised.

Tried to supervise. Unfortunately, I rested my eyes for a minute—when I opened them again, Robin was standing over the model, and his blanket was covering me. I felt a little more rested, and he didn't seem to be doing anything horrific to it. I'd check it over in the morning and make sure he hadn't sabotaged anything.

I shut my eyes and listened to him work. Every so often I'd open my eyes and see him bent over the model, eyes shut and lips parted, running his fingertips over the contours of the skyline and through the tiny streets.

"Robin?"

His eyes snapped open, and he looked over.

"I do like you. Don't…. don't turn out to be a spy, okay? Because I get really ugly when I'm betrayed."

He dropped his eyes. "This one I can promise—I'm on your side. That's the truth."

"And everything else you've told me?" I asked.

"Has been the truth. Technically."

"…right. I'm going to bed." I pushed myself to my feet, muscles protesting—there was a cold stiffness where the chill had seeped into my legs. "You can stop working when you're tired. I'll check it in the morning."

"Thanks," Robin said, his mouth set in a tight line.

I padded over to him, stooped a little, and pressed my lips to his forehead. "And stop Incubing at me."

He turned against me, worming into the blanket and sliding a hand up to tug me an inch or two lower. Warmth spread where our lips met—slow and steady as a banked fire. It was actually pretty chaste; just the movements of lips, soft and dry and slow.

I pulled back, and shrugged the blanket off my shoulders.

As I draped it over him, I asked, "Is that out of your system now?"

His muddy hazel eyes caught the candle light, almost glowing. "Not hardly. But I'll try to keep a leash on myself."

"Goodnight, Robin."

"Goodnight, Harry."

I shuffled up the stairs, thinking. I'd never kissed a man before. Funny thing; I didn't think Robin Raith had, either.


	6. Chapter 6

Over a bowl of Cheerios, I idly questioned my sexuality. I'd kissed Robin Raith. Well. He had kissed me, but I hadn't exactly been a passive party. I'd kissed back. And I'd definitely enjoyed it.

He hadn't fed, either. There'd be blisters on his lips if he tried it. But Thomas had told me that he didn't have to feed-- it wasn't an involuntary act the way it was for most of the White Court.

Maybe that's why he seemed... I don't know. Happier? Earthier? If he was capable of having sex without it being a matter of cold, predatory hunger, he'd have more joy in his life than any of the White Court I'd ever met.

Still, he might be White Court Lite, but that didn't mean he didn't have a certain effect. My boiling hormones weren't a natural reaction. I was still very straight, for what it was worth. In fact, I could feel a little manipulated, if I wanted to.

Or I could enjoy a little mostly-human contact and not mind it. You know, I really had enough to worry about without getting insecure about my masculinity.

I had it all figured out by the time I was done with breakfast; it was half forgotten by the time I'd rinsed out my bowl.

I heard the shuffle of footsteps, and then Robin came in, bleary and shirtless. I'd seen it before; he'd been sleeping on my couch for a while now, and he was anything but body-conscious. It always did something to me. Not quite beautiful-leggy-blonde something, but he had this touchably lean chest and really bizarrely nice forearms.

He kept his head down, running a hand through his mussed hair.

"Wizard Dresden," he said flatly. "Good morning."

I rolled my eyes. "Robin. We went over this last night."

"Last night was. Um. Well, there was beer."

"Yep." I opened the freezer and grabbed for the sugary little toaster pastries that Robin was addicted to, and popped two in the toaster. "Mac does a good brew, doesn't he? I don't know if that's part of your 'knowledge,' but that's local."

"Wizard Dresden, I-"

"Stars and Stones. _Harry._ Harry. Okay?" I shook my head, grinning in mock-exasperation.

He looked up, confused. He seemed disarmed by my lack of sulkiness. But he lightened up pretty quickly, and a hesitant smile broke across his face. "I thought you'd be mad."

I shrugged. "Eh."

"So... do I get to do it again?"

"Don't push your luck." I walked past him, giving him a friendly, manly, completely mostly platonic punch on one chiseled shoulder. "Put on a shirt. Eat your strudel. Then we're going to the office."

He beamed. There wasn't any other word for it.

 

Someone was waiting for us at my office-- a wiry, slender young man with shoulder-length hair even more vibrantly white than Robin's. In fact, everything about him was vibrant-- he glowed in the summer sun. He had one of those cardboard boxes you ship wine in in the crook of his arm.

"Fix!"

Ladies and Gentleman, I present an enforcer of the Sidhe; a heavyweight of Faerie; the Knight of the Summer Court. Fix was the Summer Lady's mortal champion-- definitely not her errand boy. That he was here meant that either something had gone very right, or very wrong.

"Hi, Harry," he said with a grin. "Hi... you." He blinked at Robin. "Have we met?"

"I'm sure I'd remember if we had," Robin said flirtatiously, and Fix flashed his teeth and chuckled. I'd known Fix back when he was six inches shorter and several million times more awkward-- he'd have blushed back then. Now he just met it head on with a warm, inviting smile.

Robin dropped his eyes, and his alabaster cheeks went red.

I had to learn to do that.

"What's up?" I asked, unlocking the office door so that we could all head in.

"The Summer Lady has a gift for you," Fix said, offering me the cardboard box. "And she extends an invitation to our Midsummer revel."

Translation: here's some wine, in exchange you come to the ceremony and do what Lily wants. There are no gifts in the Nevernever—it has to be an exchange. Actually, I had some leeway on that: as 'friend and esquire' of the Summer Court, I was allowed to cash in one favor. I didn't think this was it, though. And I wasn't sure why Lily was spontaneously handing out wine.

"Any news on what we talked about?" I asked, not reaching for the box yet.

Fix gave me a meaningful look.

An elbow dug into my ribs. "Be polite, Harry," Robin whispered through gritted teeth. "Take. The gift."

I gave him a dubious look, and he locked his eyes on the box.

"What is it?" I asked Fix. Robin groaned theatrically, covering his face with one hand.

"Just some wine for the summer, Harry." Fix's face was open and guileless. "Gladly extended to a friend of the Summer Court."

Wine for the summer. A gift from Lily. Who I'd asked to help me with-

A potion base.

"I gladly accept the hospitality of the Summer Lady," I said, bowing and accepting the box. "Give her my, uh, best wishes, and tell her that I look forward to seeing her again on Midsummer's night." Beside me, Robin cast his eyes heavenwards and let out a sigh of relief.

"Great." Fix extended a hand, and I shook it firmly. "See you in June!" His smile made the office a little brighter, and he waved enthusiastically on his way out the door.

"I wonder what I just signed up for," I sighed, turning the box over in my hands.   
"Some sore feet and a few embarrassing stories," Robin predicted. "It could have been a lot worse."

Yes, it could have. Okay, I admit it; I'd always privately thought that the Summer Lady—bright and beautiful and kind as I knew her to be—wasn't the brightest bulb in the box. Well, she was. Literally; she glowed. But I'd thought she was just a little naïve. Yet she'd found a way to offer me help without looking suspicious, while still giving herself total deniability if someone accused her of taking sides against the Black Court.

It was just a friendly gift of wine, after all. A pleasantry. And _I'd_ been the one who'd been too slow to get it.

"C'mon, Harry, open it," Robin urged me.

I found a box-cutter in my desk drawer and carefully slit through the tape at the top of the box. There was a cork poking out of a Styrofoam frame. I unpacked it, wrinkling my nose as the padding squeaked and shrieked.

The bottle was leaf-green, the liquid inside it light and almost clear. "Think I should open it?"

"Yeah!" Robin said, eyes alight with anticipation.

I grinned conspiratorially at him and reached to twist out the cork.

"Use a corkscrew," Robin scolded, and then broke off. "-oh."

The smell that wafted out of bottle was... well... Do you ever get cabin fever in spring? Just wake up one day when the trees are starting to bud again, and feel a rush of life that feels like it could lift you off the ground, or make your heart pound out of your chest?

Yeah. Like that.

I blinked, and corked it the wine again, very carefully, and set it on the desk. I could actually feel my heart beating, fast and frantic like the wings of a bird under my ribs.

"...Hell's Bells," Robin swore. "Beltane wine. When the Summer Lady does you a favor, she does not mess around."

"No." The green bottle sat there, innocent and inanimate. I gave it a wary look. "I get the impression that this potion is going to knock some socks off."

Robin nodded with a smirk. "And we invented it. We figured out a cleansing potion that wizards have been beating their heads against for centuries. Harry, this could be the start of such a grimoire-"

I pondered that for a second—and it was awfully tempting. I'd made some neat potions in my day, and the idea of someone turning to me for a reference made me smile. Just because it would drive Morgan nuts, if nothing else...

"No. I don't have time."

"After we kick Cowl to the curb, of course."

I raised an eyebrow. "Aren't you going home? You have that friend of yours to confess to. I wouldn't hold off on that any longer than you have to. I know humans; I am one myself. He's not going to be pleased that you waited so long to tell him."

Robin's face shadowed. "You're right about that."

He looked depressed, and I didn't resist the impulse to reach out and squeeze his shoulder. "Come on," I said. "Let's head home. We're not opening the shop today; we've got a potion to make."

"Sure thing, Harry." He still sounded a little subdued. I felt bad for him, too. "Hey, bring him up to meet me when this is all over. And I'll think about that grimoire."

I hate... most White Court vampires.

 

The potion came together absolutely perfectly. It takes more than throwing ingredients in a beaker to make a potion, obviously, or everyone would do it. It takes a lot of forethought (or a tested recipe), and magic, and you have to be careful or you'll wind up with a useless bottle of junk. This one, though, was a good one.

The ingredients blended together perfectly, and there was _exactly_ enough wine in the bottle. (I'd had a bad moment when I thought we weren't going to have enough for all thirteen potions, but somehow the bottle hadn't been quite as empty as I'd thought. (Okay, I was disappointed. I'd kind of wanted to save some of the wine to drink—you know, if I was ever at death's door. I don't think I could handle it otherwise.)

So we had thirteen sports-bottles of this beautifully glinting golden-clear potion, all carefully labeled, and I took a sniff just to make sure it was good.

After Robin pried my hands off the lab table and pulled me away to someplace well ventilated, I apparently babbled something about roots and wheels and leaves for a while until I came down. I also said something to Robin that I didn't remember, but when I asked his cheeks just went bright red.

It was obviously ready to test.

 

* * *

 

 

Murphy showed up that evening in civvies—plain green t-shirt and blue jeans that were loose enough to move in. The day had been hot, and tendrils of blond hair were pasted to her forehead—she'd been out running errands.

"Hi, Murphy," I said, opening the door. She didn't wait to be invited in. "Murph, this is the bookworm I told you about. Robin, Sergeant Karrin Murphy."

"Charmed," Robin said, giving her a warm smile. He waved, but didn't extend a hand.

Murphy blinked, and her eyes narrowed. She sized him up for a minute, looking dead into Robin's eyes, and then nodded.

"All right."

Murph is a little wary of White Court Vampires. Lord Raith enthralled her once. She'd broken it—Murph's a hell of a woman-- but she's never gotten over being angry at that. And nobody who'd been to a White Court gathering and seen White Court thralls could forget or forgive easily.

Robin didn't do thralls; promising her that had been the only way to get her to work with him at all. She would about take it on faith that she could trust Thomas—she'd been there to see the family try to kill him, too— but that was as far as she was going.

"Can you use a gun?" she asked shortly, and Robin shook his head. She gave me a look. "He should stay behind, then. I don't think these people are just going to twiddle their thumbs while we mess up their circles."

"He's the expert, Murph. I want him there if anything goes wrong."

"I may not do firepower," Robin chimed in, "but I pack a heck of a punch."

Murphy looked him up and down again, almost squinting. She didn't seem to find much to be confident about. Robin looked back—down his nose, Christ. Patronize Murphy, see where that gets you. I could feel the explosion coming a mile off.

"Um." I looked between both of them. "Are we okay?"

"We're fine," Murphy said darkly. "I'm just not taking a bullet for this guy."

"That's fine, officer," Robin told her, disdain all through his voice. "I handle bullets pretty well."

"I'm going to load the car," I said, moving out from in between them. They faced each other down.

"We're taking mine." Murphy held out her keys without looking at me. "What are you taking?"

"Firearms. Some magical stuff. General go-boom-fall-down-dead stuff."

"Is that going to work? Those ghouls from the cave didn't fall-down-dead. They got back up," Murphy said pensively.

"It'll hold them back long enough to break the circle," Robin said, lifting his chin. "This isn't some stain treatment that's gotta soak. It'll cut through like soap and oil."

"You don't know that. You haven't tested it."

I could see Robin bridling. He was immensely proud of the potion, and Murphy was needling him deeper than she could have by just insulting him to his face.

"Thanks for telling me how to do my job," he started, and there was nothing beautiful about his snarl. He opened his mouth to say something that somehow I just knew would make Murphy punch him-

"_Guys_," I snapped, irritated. We didn't have time for this; I'd wanted to get the Beetle loaded while they worked it out, but that was out of the question. If I left now, there might not be anyone left standing when I got back.

They both whirled to look at me, Murphy's jaw set and outthrust, Robin's eyes blazing and his lip curled. I gazed them down with what felt like a very parental expression.

"If something does go wrong, I need you two working together. So shake hands and stop fighting even if that means you don't talk except for tactical stuff. But this stops here or I'm leaving you _both_ behind," I said.

Murphy's eyes went wide, and I almost stepped out of the way of that laser-blue glare. She looked like she was going to kill me.

Contrast with Robin, who'd dropped his eyes and shrunk back. He looked like he'd been slapped—angry, and almost a little panicked. Murphy's eyes darted back between me and him, confusion on her face. "What aren't you telling me, Dresden?"

"Nothing," I said, trying to be patient. "I told you everything I know about the job, and about him."

"Then why's this guy playing kicked dog?" she asked, and I saw Robin's hands clench into white-knuckled fists. But he kept his eyes down, kept himself still.

"I don't know!" I threw up my hands. "Good question. Robin?"

"Because someone I care about is in danger and I'm not going to be left at home again," Robin said angrily, speaking directly to the floor. "Frankly, I'd french Mavra of the Black Court right now if you wanted me to. But I'm _not_ getting left here." His voice started to shake on the last few words, and he cut them off with a snap.

It disarmed Murphy; she gaped at him for a moment, then at me, as if I had an answer. Hell's bells, I was just as confused as she was; I had no idea what a raw nerve this would be for him. The man actually looked terrified that I'd leave him behind. I could see Murphy deciding if this was a show for her benefit or not; her gaze was shrewd but not entirely unsympathetic. Personally, I didn't know—but my gut said that he was telling the truth.

"Mister Raith," Murphy said after a long moment, and stepped forward with her hand extended.

The tension in Robin's shoulders started to ebb, and he reached into the handshake. "Officer Murphy."

Neither of them tried to be macho about it; no white-knuckle mercy grips. I heaved a quiet sigh of relief and went to go load Murphy's car.

That was soothing. It was a routine I'd developed over the years, picking and choosing what went with me.

I put a set of woven-silver rings into my pocket. Each one was made of three silver circles, and in each of those was stored the kinetic punch I built up with the energy of my movements each day. It added up to about a speeding bus per ring. One for every finger of my right hand.

I went to the popcorn tin in the corner that serves as my umbrella stand and made a bundle of my wizard's staff and blasting rod. I put on my duster—too hot for the summer, but I might wind up needing the protection spells woven into the fabric of it. I took my .44 revolver, because I'm not stupid or cocky about my power. Then, I carefully padded a bag and put in the cleansing potion, a scrub brush, several sets of thick leather gloves, and three facemasks. I planned to treat the potion like a dangerous solvent; the last that I wanted was to be having a seizure when someone showed up to stop us.

I put it all in the trunk of Murphy's car and went back to check on her and Robin. They weren't talking, but the silence wasn't too strained, and they didn't look like they were about to leap for each other's throats.

"Shotgun," I said, breaking the silence.

"P90," Murphy said dryly. "In the trunk. Let's try not to get pulled over."

For a cop, Murph collects a few very non-regulation weapons. Okay, the P90 was a gift. From a half-dragon bodyguard that she... dated, I guess, very briefly. I had to admit, the boxy little submachine gun might come in handy. I'd be happy if we didn't have to use it.

"Everybody ready to go?" I asked with a sigh.

In answer, Murphy held out her hand for the keys, Robin just nodded and fell in quietly behind me.

Traffic was pretty obliging getting through the city. We didn't get pulled over. Murphy can be a bit of a leadfoot, but she played it safe today. And hey, I wouldn't want to explain the trunk full of magical implements to a traffic cop either—and she has to work with those guys.

We parked at the warehouse and piled out of the car. The police tape was looking worn and tattered—people had been in and out, and I could see that some enthusiastic taggers had been there, adding their own graffiti around the design. It was all tagger stuff. Some of it wasn't bad, I guess, but I mostly focused on making sure that none of it was dangerous.

I passed out facemasks. "You don't want to breathe this stuff, Murph," I told her when she gave me a weird look. She accepted that, strapping the mask over her face. I took the bag with the potion into the warehouse, and gloved up.

"Robin? Stand guard outside. Murph? You're in here with me, in case anything comes out of the floor." They both nodded. Robin moved outside to lounge against a telephone pole, looking studiously bored. I'd figured he might attract a little less attention.

And, I admit, I'd been having really ugly thoughts about the circle opening and things coming out. I wanted Murph in there with a gun. Not that I didn't think Robin could handle himself, but... uh. Okay, maybe a little. He was bookwormish and not very powerful, by his own admission. I was really hoping he'd have the sense to get out of the way if there was a fight. I needed him here, but I was worried about him.

Everything was quiet. The warehouse was a big cement box, innocuous and unthreatening. Murphy stood beside me. Outside, Robin lounged, apparently ignoring the very infrequent passers-by. We had left most of the weaponry in the car—though I took my force rings out. They didn't look like weapons; they wouldn't draw attention the way Murph's P90 would. My .44 was a little smaller; I hid it in a duster pocket.

I knelt on the cement floor, held a breath, and popped the potion bottle, nozzle away from my face. Then, holding my breath and being extremely careful not to splash any on myself, I squirted the cleansing potion onto the outer circle.

The potion sparkled as it poured onto the cement. Where it touched the lines of the circle, the dark stain bubbled and vanished into nothing. No residue—a perfect cancellation. I stared for a moment. Murphy did, too.

"I guess I owe him an apology," Murphy admitted. "That's pretty neat."

I wielded the scrub-brush, spreading the potion further—it ate away and destroyed more of the circle. "He's good. You've got to give him that."

"He's not like the rest of them, is he?"

"No. He doesn't have most of their power. Or their hunger."

Murph nodded. "I felt it when he shook my hand. But it was different, you know?"

I nodded. "Earthier, right?"

Murphy frowned. "I wouldn't say 'earthy'." She cocked her head. "Actually, kind of airy."

"What?" I looked up.

"I don't know. Just a feeling. Like a breeze over wildflowers or something cutesy like that." She snorted and gestured at the floor. "Eyes on the cleaning, Harry."

I wasn't sure what to say to Murph talking about wildflowers. The whole thing was causing major cognitive dissonance.

Then Robin yelled in surprise, and I didn't have to think about it anymore.

I looked up, and saw what had raised the alarm. They hadn't come out of the floor, like I was afraid—they seemed to be pouring out of a nearby alley.

There were a lot of them, and they looked dead. These weren't any ghouls I know; not stooped, squat hominid things but corpse-like figures with too-long, too-slender arms and legs. NBA zombies moving with a sick, spiderlike grace-- on two legs or all fours-- towards our position. I saw ragged nails or claws tipping their hands and feets; saw that they had no mouths, just a lamprey-like circle of filthy teeth; saw that their yellow-gray skin was rotting and diseased. And I saw how damn _fast_ they were coming!

Robin was moving ahead of them, into the warehouse, dammit! He'd be trapped in here.

"Murph!" I yanked my left glove off to get my .44 out of my pocket and thrust it at her. "Cover me. I'm going for the weapons on the trunk. Robin!" I raised my voice. "Get out of here, you idiot!"

"Like hell, Wizard Dresden!" he came through the police tape—and I mean through. It snapped around him and didn't seem to slow him down. "Respectfully." He stopped in the doorway, squared off against the onrushing mob. Murphy came up beside him fast, and paused to aim only for a minute before she started firing. My revolver barked, taking a chunk out of the nearest NBA-zombie's arm that didn't even slow it down. Murphy fired again, and the hole in its head didn't so much as slow it down.

I jerked open the trunk, grabbing my blasting rod and looking desperately for Murphy's P90.

Four more shots and I knew she was out. Where the hell-?

My hand seized on something that sent yes-this-is-the-right-thing signals to my brain, and I didn't even look as I pitched it back to her. She made a sound of protest—I didn't look back. I was almost done cleaning, and once I was done cleaning we could get the hell out of here, and if we could do that we might just survive. Why the hell hadn't I had Robin do it-!

Regrets were cut short by claws coming right for me; one had circled from the side and leapt at me. I batted it away, expending a charge on my force ring; it sailed through the air and landed in a tangled heap. I saw it starting to regain its feet and cursed at it as I dove into the warehouse, for the cleaning supplies.

I sprayed potion across the circle and lunged for the scrub brush; I had to disrupt every ring and get the damn stone up off the floor and if I'd had Robin do this I could be out there right now defending them. Stupid, stupid, stupid! I listened for the chatter of Murphy's P90—why wasn't she shooting? Fear iced my stomach, made my motions big and clumsy.

A shadow fell over me, and I looked up into a circle of teeth, an NBA-zombie lunging towards my face too fast to dodge—  
Pulling back from my face with an almost startled look in the dead eyes.

Robin Raith had one hand around its throat, his feet braced on the floor. He handled it like a ragdoll, shaking it and then twisting his hip to throw it fast and hard against the warehouse wall. He didn't give it a chance to recover before he was on top of it, foot planted on its chest, pulling its arm straight off of its body. It screamed and bled black, stinking ichor.

Another one came at me—the one I'd sent flying earlier.

"Robin! Yours!" I activated a second force ring and knocked it to him. He let it dent the wall before he grabbed it by the face and started slamming it against the cement floor.

I scrubbed, dammit. I was half out of potion, and the circles were all broken, the sigils unrecognizable—just the stone in the center remained. I dumped the rest on it and it cracked and went dull.

"Done!" I yelled. "Let's GO!"

The warehouse filled with blue light. "No hurry," Murphy's voice sounded tired. "I got the ones outside. This time they aren't getting back up."

"Murph. Thank god." I let my head drop forward in relief. I was still tensed up to fight, and the sudden reprieve had my guts in a knot.

"I was worried when you threw me a sword, but it put them down better than the gun," she said, sounding grimly amused.

Wait, I threw her a what?

I looked up. Murphy was holding a long, single-edged katana with a wooden handle; it was covered in the NBA-zombies' black blood, but the droplets were running off the blade and leaving it clean.

_Fidelacchius_' glow was the same color as her eyes.

Robin stood frozen. I just gaped, my jaw hanging open.

Murphy whipped her head back, saw nothing behind her, and turned back to us. "What? Why are you guys staring at me?"


	7. Chapter 7

I drove us all home. Murphy hadn't really felt up to it; she sat in the back seat with _Fidelacchius_ across her lap and didn't say anything. She looked a little like she was going to cry.

Murph doesn't cry much. I've seen tears in her eyes--when she was facing down Lord Raith, when a werewolf snapped her arm and disemboweled her partner, sure, there were tears. But this was different. This wasn't pain or anger; it wasn't the heat of the moment kicking her stress hormones into overdrive.

Now she looked lost. Utterly lost. I'd never seen that on her before, and it terrified me and made me feel a little lost myself. I mean, it was _Murphy._

Robin had done a million-mile stare out of the passenger window, and that was fine. I didn't feel like making conversation.

When we got to my apartment, I went inside first to call Michael.

"Murphy has _Fidelacchius_. I gave it to her. Um. It glowed. We're at my apartment. Could you come talk to her?"

Whatever he heard in my voice, he didn't press me for details. He just showed up about fifteen minutes later--he might even have broken the speed-limit--and invited Murphy home for dinner. She'd nodded and gone.

I sat on my couch and stared at the wall. Robin puttered in the bathroom. I should really be doing something. Usually I'd be patching up after a fight, but there hadn't really been much of one. It felt like I'd scraped my knees up kneeling on the cement, but that was about it. But I'd been geared up to fight, I'd been ready to get hurt, and that sudden jerking stop still had my stomach reeling. I was full of nervous energy.

The whole encounter had lasted less than five minutes. And nobody I cared about had been hurt, while the baddies were very definitively toast. Very much not the usual. Usually I get pounded, tossed across a room, ribs broken, exhausted with magic use, almost eaten by something.

Also not usual? Handing Murphy a flaming sword.

Robin came out of my bathroom shirtless, a gauze wrap around one arm, holding a tube of antibiotic. His pale skin showed a few bruises, some scrapes, but he didn't look too badly knocked around.

"Put a shirt on," I told him, without much feeling behind it.

Either he was managing to restrain his incubusly tendencies better or shock was making me numb; I found I didn't actually care about the lack of shirt, but yelling at Robin was familiar and comfortable.

Did I want to think about how a man I'd known for all of two weeks was now familiar and comfortable? No. No, I didn't. I knew it was going to come back and bite me. Possibly literally. I mean, hell, I'd almost fallen into the arms of a pretty bookworm named Shiela, and she'd turned out to be the hallucination of a fallen angel. I felt like this Robin thing was going to come bite me in the ass sometime in the near future. Maybe that was pessimistic--or maybe it was just the voice of experience.

Robin ignored my command to shirt up and dropped on the couch behind me. "Well. That was a hell of a thing."

"Yep," I said, nodding at the wall. "Sure was."

"Never seen anything like that before."

"One of the three Swords?"

"Not at that range. And it was her first time, too." Robin attempted a suggestive smirk, but it dissolved into something a lot more thoughtful. "It makes you think, doesn't it?"

"Makes me think I just put Murphy in a world of danger? It sure does."

Robin gave me a look. "'You' put her in danger? Harry. I know you like to take the blame for things, but this one is an act of God. Literally."

Sure. I could tell that was going to make me feel a lot better the first time a Denarian attacked her.

"She's meant to have the sword. It's not like she wasn't in danger before--now she has a weapon."

"She can't carry the sword on duty."

"So she won't." Robin leaned back into the couch. "Harry, I like women as much as the next guy. Probably a little more than the next guy. But you take it to a stupid level, you know that?"

"Chivalry," I told him.

"Brain turned off," he corrected me. "That woman's damn capable. She'll be able to handle it."

He was right. I nodded. "Do you think she'll ever forgive me for giving her the sword?"

"May take a while. But she'll come around," Robin said optimistically. "She may even figure out that you didn't have a choice."

"I don't even remember packing it," I said with a groan. "I must have grabbed it with my rod and staff. Oh, I can't wait to tell her that. I accidentally packed the sword, Murph--_I_ don't even believe that."

"Hey, Sir Guilt. Act of God, remember," Robin scolded me.

"I'm going to lose her. I'm tired of losing people, dammit!"

Robin didn't have a comeback for that one. He just turned the tube of antibiotic over in his hands and got very interested on the information written on the label. After a second, he offered me the tube.

"I shook my head. "I'm not hurt."

"Okay." He capped it and tossed it on the table. "That's good."

Something in the tone of his voice reminded me of the fit he'd thrown when I threatened to leave him behind. "Don't tell me you were worried."

"Nah. Not with me at your back to kick some righteous ass, I wasn't." That seemed to give him some grim satisfaction.

"That's been a problem for you, hasn't it?" I raised an eyebrow. "For a guy who knows as much as you, you're awfully sheltered."

He snorted, looked disgusted. "Feels like I've been living in the lab or the library for a couple hundred years or so. It's what I've been good for, you know? And while I research, people leave me to go off and get hurt."

"You can handle yourself pretty well. I think you should get out more," I told him.

"Mmm." He looked uncomfortable. "That's gonna depend on a lot of things. ...Harry, you know I told you I haven't technically lied to you."

"Yep. You did." I looked over. "Is this where you start really not lying to me?"

He shook his head. "Nope. When this is all over, though, I promise."

"Mm-hmm." I said noncommittally. "Anything you can tell me now?"

He wrinkled up his nose, looking pained. "You're gonna be mad, Harry. Really, really, really mad."

"You shouldn't have kissed me, should you?" I guessed.

"Definitely not," he agreed. "But I can't say I'm sorry I did." His satisfaction was a lot less grim that time--his smile wasn't what I'd call gorgeous, but it warmed his face up.

"So what were you just saying about loving women?"

He shook his head. "Oh, Harry. You monosexuals are adorable, you know that?"

I didn't dignify that with a response. "Do you want a beer?"

He shook his head.

"Me either." Maybe when my stomach settled. "...we should probably be talking warplans, shouldn't we? I mean, I don't think the next twelve circles are going to be this easy."

"Oh, they might be," Robin said. "If I was Cowl and I figured out what we were doing, I'd sit back and let us waste all our cleansing potion, then put the circles back and finish the job. We've gotta take him out, too."

Ah. Of course--I'd thought life had been seeming a little to easy lately. I groaned and thumped my leg. "Come on. Lab. Let's go pow-wow."

"We could talk on the couch," Robin grumbled, getting up. "You just want me to put a shirt on."

"That too." I went to grab my robe and a pair of fuzzy slippers, then opened the door to the subbasement and padded down to sit by Little Chicago. Robin joined me in a minute, wrapped up in a blanket.

"So how do we get Cowl to come out where we can hit him?" I stood up and started to pace. "And how do we hit him hard enough to get rid of him?"

"Well, we could leave the circles," Robin suggested, crossing his arms as he watched me walk back and forth. "Until he shows up to cast the ritual, and then we hit them all at once. He wastes a ton of energy trying to activate a dozen circles that aren't there, and then you and the rest of the Wardens pound him."

"Nice idea. But how do we erase twelve circles instantaneously?"

"With help, obviously."

"Hell's bells, Robin! We don't have that many Wardens left. And I'm damn sure not putting trainees up against Cowl and whatever monster he pulls out of his ass this time."

Robin rolled his eyes. "Good gracious, I guess you stumped me. Oh, if only Chicago had a resident Freeholding Lord whose responsibility this would be."

I turned back to him, shaking my head firmly. "No. Hell no. I'm not calling Marcone."

Robin groaned. "Don't be an idiot, Harry. This is his job. Way I hear it, you _made_ it his job."

"He's scum."

"Freeholding scum."

"No." I winced. "I'm going to have to ask Murphy. Maybe she can spin it as gang activity or something. SI can clean it up-"

"Oh, recast as janitors, they're really going to be happy about that one. Harry, call the Freeholding Lord. It's the reasonable thing."

I bulled on as if I hadn't heard him. "And the wardens can watch for Cowl to show up. One at each site, to signal the rest of us. We get the signal, the cleanup starts, and we haul ass through the Nevernever to gang up on Cowl."

"Not a bad idea--the wardens at each site, I mean. But I don't know how much luck you're going to have getting the police to go along with it."

"I'll leave that up to Murphy," I said.

"Lovely, Harry. Tell the woman with the flaming sword that you need her and her department to be the White Council's janitors. You're an idiot." Robin covered his face with one long-fingered hand. "Why can't you ever do the reasonable thing?"

"This is reasonable. I'll just ask her nicely."

"_You?_" Robin asked disbelievingly. "You think you're tactful enough to ask something like this without offending a police force who doesn't trust you--not to mention Sergeant Murphy, who won't be feeling imposed on by you _at all_ right now."

"You said she'd forgive me," I pointed out.

"Not if you hit her with something like this while she's still reeling!" Robin said, almost angrily.

I took a deep breath and closed my eyes. "She wasn't going to forgive me anyway. I might as well get used to it."

Robin's eyes blazed, and he met my gaze for a second before looking away. "You defeatist-" he sputtered. "You moralistic--you _idiot!_" He threw up his arms, the blanket shifting off his shoulders. He didn't seem to notice.

He hadn't actually put a shirt on, apparently. And as a wave of warmth hit me, I suddenly cared about that a whole lot. It really was kind of cold in here. It was doing interesting things to the geography of his pectorals.

"You're incubing again," I told him as conversationally as I could manage, but there was a definite blood-flow away from my brain that was making that difficult.

"Oh, don't you dare lecture me." Robin stalked up to me, prodding me in the chest. He could be doing nicer things with his fingers. "You're planning to just throw away a friendship, and get yourself killed doing it, and you're going to do it because you're too much of a pessimist to trust your friend."

I took his hand between both of my own, stroking the wrist. "I'm not going to start calling on Marcone whenever I need help. Nothing good lies down that road."

Robin's eyes snapped to my fingers on his skin. "You're going to die. Everything you need is in front of you. Just use it, Harry."

"I'm going to do what's right," I told him calmly.

"You are. You unreasonable bastard. You always do."

He shut his eyes, his hand opening up between mine so I was palm to palm with him, and leaned towards me. Then his jaw set, and the warmth in my veins faded. I blinked.

"What are you-?"

"I'm leaving." Robin shook his head, tugging his hand free. "I don't have to put up with this, and I'm not going to."

"No. You're right. You don't have to."

He turned away from me with a growl.

"Hey, Robin?"

I was about ninety-five percent sure that Robin had wanted to kiss me just then, before he dragged his influence back. The classic 'you sexy idiot' kiss. I actually felt a little deprived that he hadn't, and I was willing to bet on the odds.

He turned back to me, and I put my hand on the nape of his neck and stooped to kiss him. I'd been going for the short smooch, but Robin growled and pushed into it challengingly, and I wasn't about to back out of that-- and then I didn't pull away, and he didn't pull away, and he sort of... he melted. If he'd been a leggy blond, I'd have given up then and there. The way he moved against me was indecent and instinctual-- hell, I was tempted as it was. Even in all my adorable monosexuality.

He pulled back with a dazed expression on his face, which hardened into a frown. "You're a jerk, Wizard Dresden." His cheeks were staining blood red, which was what I'd been going for in the first place.

"Harry." I kept my hand on the back of his neck, leaning forehead to forehead with him. "Go ahead. Get out of here for a while. But come back, okay? I need your help planning the right tiger-trap for Cowl." A beat. "Please?"

The moment stretched. Robin leaned against me.

"Jerk," he said. He pulled away and started up the stairs. He was almost smiling, though, and the limberness of his muscles told me I'd taken a big chunk out of his anger and his stress-level.

I had the oddest feeling of déjà-vu.

 

* * *

 

Robin didn't come back until late that night--I'd been in bed for maybe an hour when he knocked to be let in. I was too bleary to do much besides glare sleepily at him and stalk back up the stairs to bed. At least he looked a little sheepish.

The next morning, I sent him to the lab to start planning our Cowl-trap. I went to the office to stare at the phone for a while.

I was going to have to call Murph. And ask her really, really nicely to use SI--which the city was paying me for, actually. I'd been clocking some hours as consultant on this, and what they'd asked me to do was to find out who did it, and how to remove it.

And I'd done that.

And Murphy would understand that the wardens had to be there, right?

I swallowed.

I called Warden Ramirez instead.

"I have a potion to erase those circles. I need as many of the Wardens as we can muster, and we need to arrange paths through the Nevernever--" I outlined my plan, speaking reasonably and calmly and not giving him a chance to get a word in edgewise at any point.

I stopped just as I was running out of breath, and moved the receiver so that Ramirez couldn't hear me panting. It was a good thing I was a wizard; I definitely couldn't make it as an auctioneer.

"Hi, Harry. It's great to hear from you, too," the young Warden said dryly. "How's Mouse? Seen any good movies lately?"

"Ramirez-"

"Harry, I'm not Morgan. I think your plan sounds pretty good. You didn't have to go on the defensive about it."

"I'm worried. Working with the police is going to cause trouble. The Merlin's not going to like it."

"Maybe not. But we're stretched thin--we need these people to help. The Council will agree to that. How much notice do we have?"

"I'm hoping two weeks," I said. "If the circles start showing up faster, though, maybe less than a week."

"All right. I'll get the message out. Expect a call tomorrow, okay?"

I nodded, and then felt like a dope. "Okay. Thanks, Ramirez."

"Thank you, Harry. I know nobody in charge is going to bother saying it, but we needed the help."

"You're welcome," I said. "I just hope this goes right. I'm going to try to work up something potent to hammer Cowl with tonight. If you think of anything, I definitely want to hear about it."

"Will do!"

Ah, youth and enthusiasm. We said our goodbyes, and I hung up and stared at the phone again.

Suck it up, Harry. Dial the phone.

I dialed Murphy's number--her office.

"Sergeant Murphy." Murphy sounded busy, a little tired.

"Hi, Murph. It's, uh, Harry."

"Hello, Mr. Uh-Harry," Murphy said with a long-suffering sigh. "What can I do for you?"

A lot of things suddenly didn't happen: Murphy's voice didn't immediately tense or go sharp. She didn't sound angrier, or more tired, or sad, or fragile.

I had been expecting at least one of those to happen.

"I. Um. Talk to you. The case. The circles."

"It okay. Caveman Harry get paid full rate," Murphy assured me.

I paused for a minute until I got my grasp of the English language back. "That's not it, Murph, I'm going to get the Wardens on this, to get Cowl, but I need SI's help to coordinate it."

"Okay. We've got the people."

Caveman Harry scratch head. Caveman Harry very puzzled.

"How-?"

"Apparently shortly after the city dumped this on SI, Gang Related Violence started their own full-scale investigation into them--and they brought in some chemists to consult. Well, 'chemists.'" Murphy easily pronounced the quotation marks, dumping a truckload of disdain on them. "Coordinated by a woman who I would be very unprofessional to refer to as a reject from the Swedish Women's Volleyball team. Ms. Gard, no first name given."

Gard. Damn. Hell. Shit. BASTARD.

"As soon as I mentioned that you'd found something to clean them up, they gave the case to SI. To me, actually. With a bunch of GRV guys and orders to cooperate with whoever you brought on board."

"I know Gard. She works for Monoc securities," I said, my lips tightening. "They're a magical consulting firm. Right now, she's contracted to Marcone."

Bastard asshole CRIMINAL SCUM. He'd been on this from day one, using his contacts in city hall to get investigated his way. Because he'd know it was magic and he'd use anything to stop a threat from encroaching on his territory. And I'd been sitting there acting like it was my choice to bring him in or not. This is why it's so dangerous to deal with demons and other creatures of the Nevernever: they let you overestimate your control over them and wait for you to get cocky before they go for the throat.

Demons, Sidhe, and 'Gentleman Johnnie' Marcone--the leader of Chicago's organized crime movement. The first and only plain-vanilla no-magic human Freeholding Lord signatory to the Unseelie Accords.

Murphy had picked up on it right away. "Now everything makes sense. I was wondering why they gave this to a Sergeant."

"I still am. Why involve SI if he doesn't have to? He can't think he's going to buy your loyalty."

"Maybe he doesn't want to piss you off," Murphy suggested, with a 'well, duh' tone in her voice. "Maybe he thinks you'll burn another building down if he screws with your friends' jobs."

"...it was only one building, and that was years ago."

"And the time you vaporized that dumpster?"

"I... wasn't thinking clearly. That's not going to be a habit."

I could almost hear Murphy shrug over the phone. "I don't like it. But if I refuse, they're going ahead with this operation and they're probably going to do it wrong."

"I'm sorry, Murph," I said, frustrated. "Damn, I'm sorry."

"You let him sign up because you'd hope he'd keep the vampires out of Chicago. Don't be too surprised that he's taking his position seriously."

"Can you meet me at McAnally's tonight?" I sighed. "We need to coordinate this thing."

"You're not kidding. They got all the other circles finished too fast."

"--what?"

"You don't know." Now Murphy's voice went tense. "They appeared overnight, Harry. All of them. There's a new moon tomorrow night; I really, really hope Cowl's waiting for that. I put some undercover men around the sites to call me if there's any activity."

"But the thirteenth one--I don't have enough--"

"GRV guys tested. The new circle in the warehouse comes up with soap and water. I told them to wait before actually taking it out."

Enough potion. Enough people. Not enough time. Two out of three was a lot better than I'd managed in a long time. It would be okay. I had to tell myself that.

"I'm going to have Warden Ramirez meet us tonight. We're going to hammer this out and hit them tomorrow night. I'll bring the potions in the Beetle just in case it is tonight, and we'll be ready to go if we have to."

"Right. See you tonight."

I flipped the 'closed' sign and went home.

Robin had been writing notes down, but almost everything he had was crossed out. I picked up a sheet, glanced at it, and put it back down. It probably would have worked on Cowl. And it was Dark. Really Dark. Robin knew me well enough not to suggest it. Or any of the rest of the pile of rejected notes. I left him working on it, took the potion in the Beetle, and drove to McAnally's.

Where Warden Ramirez was not waiting for me.

 

"Warden Dresden."

"Warden Morgan," I said, feeling my jaw clench. "What a surprise."

"Warden Ramirez has explained your plan to the Council. And its urgency."

"And what does the Council think?"

"That there is no time to debate this." He looked sour. "And I am here to meet with the representative of the police department."

"Great. She'll be here in a minute."

We both felt it, then. McAnally's is built to disrupt the flow of magic, but this wasn't a spell. It was more like a sound. A clear note, a hum in the air, accompanied by the much more mundane sound of the door swinging closed.

Karrin Murphy was clothed in white--her t-shirt, anyway. Her jeans were loose, comfortable and faded. She looked radiant.

Mac looked up behind the bar, eyes fastening on the army-green duffel-bag she was carrying, and simply nodded. She smiled at him-- a little quirk around the lips, a lot of wrinkling around the eyes.

I hadn't seen Murphy smile like that in a long, long time.

She spotted me and came over, giving Morgan a puzzled look. He was looking at her with equal puzzlement and some suspicion.

"Karrin Murphy, Chicago PD," she introduced herself, extending a hand.

Morgan looked at me, then back at her. He opened his mouth; shut it; opened it again.

"Donald Morgan, Warden of the White Council."

"I've already met Warden Ramirez," she said. "I was expecting to see him tonight."

"The council felt it preferable to send a more senior member." He looked her up and down, frowning. "You are a Knight of the Sword. I did not know that a new wielder had been chosen."

"It's a recent thing."

"Which-?"

"_Fidelacchius_," Murphy said, the word rolling off her tongue like the name of an old friend. "I've come to you tonight in both capacities-- as Chicago PD and as a Knight. We will be there tomorrow. The police department, and the Knights. Will you?"

There were dark circles under her bright blue eyes, but she still looked like an angel.

Morgan frowned, and met her gaze. She didn't drop her eyes.

"Murph-!" I turned my chair over in my rush to stop it, but Murphy held up a hand-- and then went still. Morgan, too.

Soulgaze.

It only lasted a second, and then they were breaking eye-contact and straightening up. Murphy shut her eyes, took a breath, and composed herself.

Morgan simply bowed his head. "Knight Murphy. I will do what I can." His voice was respectful. I had to wonder what he'd seen.

I've never Soulgazed Murphy. I don't want to. It's not that I'm afraid to look into her soul-- I've seen so much worse. But it's a two-way street. I didn't want Murphy to see me, what had made people faint and shake. Because I liked having her as a friend.

And still I was jealous of Morgan, almost. Because I've looked at Murphy with wizard's Sight, and she is beautiful. Heartbreakingly so.

"Warden Dresden." Morgan turned to look at me. There was no more disdain in his voice, just confusion. "I am going to close the circle so that we can talk. Will you be inside or out?"

"Inside." I picked my chair back up and sat close to the table. Morgan took out a piece of chalk, and drew a circle around our table, then put his will into it. The circle closed with a surge of energy, and we were suddenly separate from the rest of the bar. The thrum of _Fidelacchius_' power was even louder inside the barrier.

Murphy went into cop-mode almost immediately, and started talking men and positions and cover stories. Morgan responded with the numbers of our Wardens, their capabilities, travelling times. Maps of the city came out. Names were exchanged. Things were written down.

Me? I sat there feeling useless, and wishing I'd had time to buy a beer. I did tell them about the potion:

"We have to treat this thing like an industrial solvent. Nobody breathes the fumes, nobody gets it on their skin, nobody ingests it."

"I bet we can get guys in Haz-Mat suits," Murphy said. "As long as Marcone's getting involved, let's soak him."

"I will tell the Wardens to be careful," Morgan agreed. "Dresden, what is it?"

I shrugged. "Life. A Life potion."

"Such a thing has not been made before."

"I know."

"Will you tell me how it was done?"

I smirked. "You'll have to wait for the grimoire."

Morgan's eyes narrowed, and then he sighed. "It is good to see that I have not been _entirely_ mistaken about you."

Murphy's cheeks dimpled. What the hell had he seen in there?

"Are we finished?" Morgan asked.

"Yep," Murphy said. "I'll meet you tomorrow at six to start prep and get the Wardens integrated with our teams."

"If Cowl moves before then, you can reach me at this number." Morgan scribbled it on a piece of paper. "I will take the potion to the Wardens tonight. We will be ready to move in an emergency."

"Thank you, Warden Morgan." Murphy extended her hand, and he shook it firmly, then turned to break the circle; the magical barrier collapsed with a whisper of energy. Morgan gathered up his things and left-- I went out to give him the bottles of cleansing potion, minus the one I'd have with me at my station.

Murphy was sitting down when I came back in, and she reached for her wallet. "Dresden. Want to split a beer?"

"Split?" I looked pained.

"We've got a big day tomorrow."

"You're not that much of a lightweight. Neither am I," I protested. "We'll offend Mac."

"Oh, heck with it," she muttered, and stood. "Fine. Have it your way."

"'Heck with it'?" I said, raising an eyebrow.

Murphy looked at her duffel bag and back at me. "Heck with it."

Jeeze.

I kept an eye on the duffel until Murphy came back with a bottle of beer in each hand.

"How are you, Murph?"

She uncapped her beer and sipped. "Better. I had a talk with Michael. There's some things I have to learn; I may take a week off when this is over. Or we'll squeeze it in sometime during all that free time I have. Either way."

"I didn't plan it," I said. "The Sword. I was looking for your P90."

She nodded. "The way Michael tells it, you didn't have a choice. Don't beat yourself up about it."

"You look happy, though," I said hesitantly.

"Hey, I'm a superhero and everything. Charity's working on my Kevlar-coated costume as we speak." She quirked a smile. "It's what I'm supposed to be doing, Harry. I never doubted that. No matter what Rich said. Or mom, or city council, or anyone in my family. I _knew_." She took a breath. "Nobody else ever seemed to believe it, though."

I felt my eyes prickle. "Oh, Murph."

She looked up at me. "Harry. Come on, don't cry, you big doofus." She cleared her throat, and I could see her eyes glistening, too.

I stood up and opened my arms. She carefully pushed her chair back, and then stood up and nearly cracked a few of my ribs. There's always been a little tension between Murphy and me. We can't work. There are very good reasons. But it's always there. And it was there, then, but it was insignificant and overshadowed by joy.

"I knew. That you were supposed to."

She nodded.

We couldn't stand in the middle of a tavern hugging for too long. Just long enough-- and then it seemed like time to go home. I only wound up drinking half my beer after all, but I took the remainder with me. Half a bottle of beer could come in handy sometime.

The Beetle took me home well under the speed limit.

I was terrified about tomorrow. I was unbelievably happy that Murphy was so happy. Somehow, the negative and positive emotions cancelled out, left me quiet and tired.

At home, Robin had a pile of rejects on the floor beside him, and an empty workspace.

"We may have to do this the old fashioned way, Harry," he said, sounding tired. "None of these are acceptable. I'm sorry."

"Hey, I'm good at old-fashioned," I said. "You ready for tomorrow?"

He nodded.

"Get some sleep."

I went upstairs to do just that.

 

 

I woke in bliss. It must have been two am; it was dark, and didn't feel like morning even slightly.

There was a solid warmth tucked up to my body, a muscular arm over me, and full, expressive lips were exploring my neck. My boxers were still on, though, which was something. Very stretchy material, fortunately.

"Mmm." My body was way ahead of my mind; I struggled to catch up. "Robin. What're you doing?"

"It's been a while for you, hasn't it?" Robin purred, and the tip of his tongue caught a bundle of nerves just under my jaw. "I thought it was _obvious_."

"Guh." I forced my toes to uncurl. "Umm. If you shouldn't have kissed me, you _really_ shouldn't be doing this."

"Maybe you shouldn't have kissed me." Robin nuzzled up to my ear and whispered: "Besides, Wizard Dresden, you've heard the one about the lamb and the sheep, right?"

His breath in my ear was doing bad things to me, and I hadn't been that coherent to begin with. "Huh-?"

"Which one it's better t'be hung for," he drawled.

"Robin," I said, trying to disapprove without remembering the words I'd use for that. I'd gone to sleep with a sheet over me-- it was a pretty hot night-- but it was tangled around my feet now. I discovered this when I tried to nudge him away with my knee. I was tired and starting to seriously wonder if it was worth resisting.

He sighed, and I felt his influence pull off of me.

"Please?" he whispered. "Please. Please."

My body was far enough along that it didn't need supernatural influence to think that 'more' was a good idea. I ignored it.

"No." Absolutely not. Which meant that no, my hands should not be playing with the curve of the muscle on his back. I forced them still.

He sucked in a breath. "Harry. I only get this chance. I may not even survive tomorrow."

"Robin-" I had to give up touching him. A reassuring pat on the arm became a stroke down the bicep. So much for ignoring the demands of my body. It was apparently ignoring me right back. He wasn't even incubing, and I knew that that was a conscious effort for him.

"Don't you dare promise me I'll be okay. You can't promise that." His voice was bitter. "And you'll blame yourself if you're wrong."

"I wasn't going to." I reached out in the darkness, and found his shoulder, pushed him back a little. Really pushed him. It took concentration, but I didn't pull him closer or stroke him or anything, and I was proud of that. "But this isn't the time. We both need our sleep."

"I can't. I'm tired of trying. Please, I'll make you feel so good-" He stroked a hand down my stomach, stopping it just shy of somewhere really inappropriate, and I had to bite my cheek not to shove my hips up against it.

"No," I said firmly. To him, and to me, too. "No means no. This doesn't happen tonight."

Robin's arm pulled off me, and he rolled away, leaving me to grit my teeth in relief and try to calm down. I heard him take a shuddering breath.

"Are you angry at me?"

"No." I found his shoulder in the dark again. "You're scared," I realized. That helped. Frightened just doesn't do it for me.

"Hell yes I'm scared," Robin snapped. "He's going to try to kill me. Again. What if he doesn't fail this time?"

"Then we're all screwed anyway."

"I don't want this. I don't want to do this." Robin was shivering very softly under my hand.

"Welcome to being alive. And doing the right thing." I was taking deep breaths, and my body was actually listening to me and cooling off. Which was a little disappointing, and I can't say I didn't regret it. But like I told him; it was the right thing.

"...can I stay here?"

It was weird how he could say something so classically immature and sound so old. A little weird that I wasn't banishing him back to the couch for this stunt.

Hell, he was scared and lonely. And not used to going into danger like manly-man Harry Dresden was.

"Yeah. No incubing, no groping." I used my grip on his shoulder to roll him back against me, and he tucked his head against my breastbone. I wrapped an arm around his back. "And no keeping me up. Are you going to be able to sleep?"

"Dunno."

"Try," I suggested, rubbing his back sleepily. It was about ninety percent platonic.

"Yes, boss," he muttered, and I shut my eyes again. It was two in the morning. That was no time to be awake.

I fell asleep with my chin resting on his head. Soft hair. Mmm.


	8. Chapter 8

The world was cool and quiet, and empty. I concentrated on my energy and my will, testing them, strengthening them, steeling them.

I sat on the floor of my lab, legs crossed, arms resting limp on my knees. I had nothing but time, nothing but patience; I memorized what would happen tonight. I mentally traced paths through the Nevernever, the word that would let me pull reality open, the time it would take me to get through, the strength it would take, how I would arrive. Now the same for every Warden at every circle. Where? How long? How hard? Who would be in position to do what?

The Beetle was packed. What was I bringing? What did it all do?

Right.

When I decided I was ready, I opened my eyes, and let the world come flowing back to me. My legs were stiff, but I was relaxed. Nice slow heartbeat, no stress.

I rolled my neck and then got to my feet.

Completely ready to go fight the necromancer. Sure. But I did feel more confident.

"Robin?" I came up the lab steps, stopped in the living room, and blinked. Robin and Mouse had gotten over their initial friction; Mouse was sitting on his lap, letting Robin lean his head on his shoulder. Robin didn't seem to mind the two-fifty pounds of dog on his legs in the slightest.

"He's not supposed to be on the couch," I said, mock-sternly. I got matching sheepish looks.

"Sorry," Robin said, not letting go of Mouse's neck. Mouse slobbered him sympathetically.

"Are you ready to go?"

"No." He patted Mouse's side. "C'mon, let me up."

"You don't have to go," I reminded him.

"Hell I don't. This is personal." Robin gently shoved Mouse until he huffed and jumped to the floor with a thud. "And I'm not letting you go alone."

"I won't be alone. The Wardens will be there. Robin, I don't want you getting hurt-"

"Don't spare my feelings. You don't want me in the way."

"Yes, actually," I said sharply.

Robin nodded. "I should explain one of those 'technically telling the truth' things."

"I'm listening."

"Technically, I'm not that strong as far as the White Court goes. My powers of sexual control and predation? Pretty humble. But."

I felt myself go very still. "But as far as non-White Court power goes?"

"I won't let you go without me there to protect you," Robin told me. It wasn't a suggestion.

"You said you spent a lot of time in labs--" I said, feeling a little anger start somewhere.

"I have. Trust me. Too much. I haven't been out and doing. That changes now."

"Why now?"

Have you ever seen someone smile accusingly? "Because of you, Wizard Dresden. You changed everything."

"Bullshit," I told him.

"I don't lie to you."

"Technically? No. You don't."

"No technicalities for this, Harry-- you changed the shape of things. You changed _me_. You'll understand that soon." His gaze remained locked somewhere just above my eyes.

"Cryptic bullshit," I amended my opinion.

Robin shrugged. "I'm coming with you, though. You need me in case we have to go to Plan B."

"What's Plan B?" I said warily.

Robin squared his shoulders. "Plan B's not a good plan. We don't have much time to argue." He pointed at the clock.

"Stars and stones!" I growled with frustration. "If I leave you behind you'll just show up, won't you?"

"Yup."

"Get in the damn car."

 

We made it out into the city before moonrise. The circle Morgan had stationed me at was in a residential area, in an abandoned building surrounded by an equally lively strip mall. Big store front.

There were a bunch of Chicago PD gathered across the street behind it, all in bullet proof vests. I didn't recognize any of them-- but the in-charge looking gentleman with graying hair, him I knew. Detective Lieutenant Stallings was SI-- head of the department at the moment, since Murphy had been busted down to Sergeant. He believed in me, in his way; skeptical of magic, but he'd seen too much in SI to totally discount it. And he knew I wouldn't scam the department.

He'd also be cutting my paycheck. I made a mental note to try not to screw up where he could see.

"Mister Dresden," he said, nodding to me. He was playing professional for the other policemen. I'd play along.

"Lieutenant."

"Wait, _Harry_ Dresden?" One of the strange cops, a sharp-looking, muscular woman, took a step forward. "Didn't I see you on the Larry Fowler show?"

I winced.

"I told you," she said, grinning at one of the other vested cops. "It's a cult thing."

"Is that what it is?" the man asked me. "A cult?"

I looked to Stallings, who nodded. "That's exactly what I think it is. And I think that they're going to show up at one of the graffiti sites tonight to do some kind of ritual." Technically true.

"A sting operation," the woman said, nodding. "And what if it isn't at this site?"

Stallings fielded that one. "Then the target site will radio us, and we can move in and start cleaning."

That got a look of discontentment and some grumbling. The Gang Related Violence guys obviously wanted a little action.

"Who's the other guy?" said the cop who hadn't thought it was a cult. He was peering at the Beetle, where Robin sat.

"That's the expert who made the solvent to clean up the graffiti," I explained smoothly, feeling sort of sympathetic towards Robin. And suspicious, too. I hadn't technically lied, but I knew everyone but Stallings was going to walk away from this thinking he was some kind of chemist.

"Just so long as he stays out of the way if things get busy," the cop decided. "Do we know when to expect movement?"

Stallings looked at the sky. "Moonrise. Right, Dresden?"

"Cult thing," I agreed.

Nothing to do but wait. I checked my watch-- half an hour till moonrise, and Cowl might wait until it had reached its zenith, which would be a few more hours. It was a hot, muggy night, half-clouded over--not that we'd have been able to see anything if it hadn't.

I found a place where I could watch the store, well away from the cops and their radios. I wasn't going to take any chance of disrupting their equipment and missing the alarm. Robin came out of the car to wait beside me, quiet. We didn't talk.

The time crawled by. Around us, people went on with their lives. Doors open and shut. A nearby streetlight developed a buzz and flicker, which I didn't think was my fault. I could feel the beads of sweat crawling down my spine, even in a light shirt.

"I don't think it's going to be tonight," I finally said to Robin, who frowned up at the overcast sky and shrugged.

Nothing happened. I really thought that that one would do it.

Insects buzzed.

"You didn't panic when I tried to leave you behind this time," I said quietly.

"No. For a couple reasons." Robin shifted, never taking his eyes off of the empty storefront. "One, the first time was pretty damn embarrassing. Second… it's too important this time. If you'd tried to leave me I _would_ have just shown up."

"You could have done that last time."

"Then you might have put a leash on me this time."

"I should have."

Police radios are _loud._ I heard one crackle from fifty feet away.

Then the shouting.

"Harry!" Stallings yelled. "Attacks at sites two and five!" The information came readily to me, all my review paying off. Luccio and Ebenezar-- both could handle themselves long enough for me to get this right.

"What's going on? Who's attacking them, and did anyone see a ringleader?" I jogged over-- not too close. I still had nightmares about a security guard, a bank of TV monitors, and a werewolf.

"All I got was 'monsters'. Do we move in and clean?"

"No." Robin was beside me. I hadn't heard him come up beside me. "No, STOP. He's not at either of those places. He's here!"

"What?"

One of the GRV cops looked up from the radio. "Sites seven and eight!"

"Harry, he's HERE,"

"Let us go first," I told Stallings. "We'll start cleanup. Man the radios-"

"Right, right, right, let's GO." Robin thrust something into my hands-- my blasting rod. He was carrying the potion and the bag of protective gear.

"We need to tell the other Wardens," I argued, but he grabbed my arm.

"They've got their hands full enough-- tell them to start the cleanup and get it done fast," Robin yelled past me. "Harry, now, it's started" he said, and started pulling me.

"--what he said," I yelled over my shoulder. I let Robin drag me a few feet, and then started running myself. I could hear it, now, what Robin was hearing. Like a stereo system with the base up too loud-- I couldn't hear the words, just the cadence, throbbing in the hollow of my chest.

We sprinted, Robin holding back to pace me, not bothering to keep behind cover anymore. We crossed the street in seconds, flattening ourselves against the building wall in front of a service door in the back.

"Ready?"

I took a deep breath. Shield bracelet. Force rings. Blasting rod. No duster-- not tonight. I had to sacrifice its protection so that I could move.

Robin said he could run heavier magical interference? Fine. I was going to let him.

"Give me the potion." The gloves were bulky enough to slip over my force rings. Robin nodded and handed me the sports-bottle.

The chanting was making my collarbone buzz. I could almost hear the words, now-- and I didn't like them.

"Now."

Robin punched the door. It exploded off its hinges inward, and we followed it at top speed.

I had the quick impression of bare, skeletal shelves, of half-tiled floor-- there was a bare concrete patch in the center where the circle was glowing malevolently, the stone at the center pulsing a sickening red--

And two figures.

The chanter was hunchbacked, looking deformed in a grey cloak.

And Cowl was standing there watching us, apparently impassive. For all I could see behind that damn hood. "Wizard Dresden. I wondered if you would be joining us tonight." His voice was almost amused. It had a serpentine, inhuman quality. "You have come to stop us. You will not."

He raised a hand, and I felt myself pull forward--

\--and stop.

Robin had his hand up, gently crooked towards me, summoning me back against Cowl's grip.

"Impressive," Cowl murmured. "Very impressive. You had the audacity to let it use magic."

It?

Robin's mouth quirked. "That's not the half of it."

It wasn't a word so much as a sigh, and then the tile under Cowl's feet ripped itself up and flung itself at his face. A wind spell like one of mine-- intensifying. The metal framed shelves around the necromancer started to bend and creak.

Robin was well out of arm's reach, but his voice was right in my ear, a barely audible whisper. _The circle, Harry. Keep low, shield up, break the circle._

Metal screamed and a shelf bounced off of Cowl's shield. The chanting apprentice crouched closer to the circle, ducking under a piece of debris.

Cowl screamed an angry word, and I felt a rush of power. I ducked behind a shelf that was still mostly standing and started making my way around towards the circle. As fast as I could. I could feel the power building as the apprentice chanted; I could feel it spreading. In my mind's eye, I could see the ring of circles like a poisonous faery ring dotted around Chicago. The power would burst out of this ring and jump to the other circles, magnified-

I ducked to the next shelf. The wind was intensifying, and the light of the circle was flickering oddly.

A tendril of shadow smashed the shelf in front of me and I threw myself backwards, staring out from behind my shelf. Cowl was fighting back: his shadow was streaming out from under his feet and arching off the ground to smash at a bubble of air around Robin. And Robin was actually holding up against it.

Hell's BELLS.

The apprentice saw me. He jerked, his hunched body turning towards me, but he couldn't stop the chant or it would blow up in his face. I hurried across the gap to the next shelf, hiding behind a dusty metal rack.

_Harry._ The whisper on the wind was strained. _Not to rush you._

I looked back out. Cowl's shadow was hammering down on Robin's shield, using pieces of metal shelving like knives. Robin was standing stock still, one arm dangling by his side as if he didn't have the concentration to work it. He was sagging back.

A protective rage ripped up through my spine and I raised my blasting rod.

"_FUEGO!_" A gout of fire sprang from the tip of my blasting rod. There had been debris in my way, the shadow tentacles creeping along the tile, the last remnants of a glass display case; now there was just ash and clean floor. I bolted down along it and popped the top on the sports bottle.

The apprentice's chant grew desperate.

"DRESDEN!" Cowl bellowed, and reared back his shadow--

I dropped my blasting rod, grabbed the sports-bottle with both hands, aimed across the circle and squeezed.

Glittering potion hosed out of it, pattering down on the lines and sigils.

"Refocus!" I heard Cowl bellow as I squeezed again. The rings potion skimmed over the energized lines like water on a wool coat, but I could see droplets starting to be absorbed, the lines starting to eat away. "We can lose one! Focus on the others!" The outermost ring died with a fizzle and an ugly pop, and the reddish light dimmed immediately. The outer ones were to amplify it…

Sigils dissolved into meaninglessness. The glow of the central stone flickered and started to die. I felt the apprentice steering the energy out of this circle, focusing on the dozen others ringed around the city.

"Robin, SHIELD!"

I threw myself flat, as far from the circle as I could, and held my shield bracelet over me, visualizing streamlines and sports cars, willing my shield as flat and tapered as I could.

The energy surged out of the circle, met nothing where the other circles should have been, and rebounded right back into the half-broken figure on the ground behind me.

The explosion skimmed over my shield as lightly and easily as a truck driving over me. A cement truck. It crushed the air out of my lungs and shoved me hard into the ground. There was something not-quite-yielding enough under me that was digging a bruise into my ribs. The whole thing couldn't have been more than a few seconds long, but it was long enough to wish desperately that I could move my hands, put them over my ears--

The light died, leaving me seeing stars and bright blue after-images. I couldn't hear over the ringing in my ears.

But hey. I was apparently alive. Good for me. Not that that would last long, if I couldn't breathe.

I gritted my teeth and tried to breathe again; my squashed lungs finally expanded. I inhaled thick dust, choked, coughed, and tried it again.

I could actually hear myself groan. I gratefully crossed 'learn sign language' off of my to do list for the next week.

"Robin?" I said. Well. Whispered. I still wasn't entirely back with this 'breathing' program.

No response. Debris settled somewhere.

I forced my arm to move, my hand shaking as it moved into my shirt to pull out my mother's silver pentacle amulet. My body had taken a beating, but I hadn't reached the ends of my strength: I focused my will on the little amulet, and it glowed for me, soft and silver-blue.

I was lying alone in the middle of a bare floor. All the leftover shelving and store-type bric-a-brac had been cleared and smashed against the far walls, and the floor was stripped perfectly clean except for a few piles of rubble where the roof had caved in. About ten feet away was a crumpled gray heap with a piece of rebar imbedded in it; what was left of Cowl's apprentice. My stomach lurched.

The thing that had been digging into me was the potion bottle. I picked it up and squeezed it back into shape; a few ounces of liquid sloshed inside. It was such a stupid little thing to do, but it was the task in front of me, and it was better than looking at the shish-kabob in the gray cloak.

I had to find Robin.

I hauled myself to my feet and staggered to the middle of the floor where I'd last seen the vampire. The circle was there, he would have been thrown away from it-

He was curled fetally in a pile of rubble, below a slightly Robin-shaped dent in the wall. He was covered in cuts, and there was a dark stain spreading in his white hair. He looked like a discarded rag doll, limbs at unnatural angles.

"No." I fell to my knees beside him, grabbing his wrist.

At first I thought it was my imagination, or maybe my own pulse drowning out the feeling-- but it wasn't. He had a pulse. He'd bounced off a wall, possibly head-first, and he had a pulse. It was too much of a shock to even feel relief. That would come later. After I'd looked at his headwound.

Red, it hit me suddenly. White Court vampires have a pinkish blood, but Robin was bleeding red. And as I peeled his hair gently away from his scalp, peering at the long scrape on his skull by the light of the pentacle, I saw why.

Robin had a tattoo under his hair. I dabbed the blood away with the hem of my shirt and stared at it. It was a little binding circle. Intricate characters around two bold Hebrew letters: they spelled 'truth.' Remove one, and the word was 'death'.

It's not the only way to make a homunculus. But it's one of the old reliables.

I rocked back on my knees and stared like an idiot.

"You didn't know." The voice came from behind me. Cowl sounded like he'd weathered the explosion just fine. He also sounded extremely confused. "I thought it was yours. Your secret weapon."

I laid Robin's head down gently and turned, raising my shield bracelet. I had no idea where my blasting rod had ended up. Somewhere in the rubble, hopefully intact. I wasn't going to be that optimistic. I still had my force-rings on, under the rubber gloves. Their kinetic pounding was useful, but I didn't know what it would do to Cowl.

Cowl was pacing a slow circle around us, apparently too curious to attack just yet.

"Someone has made it and sent it for me. How interesting. I'll have to find out why." Cowl gestured at me. "_Dorosh._"

It was a negligent little blow; Cowl wasn't even trying. My shield absorbed the kinetic energy-- and broke. I went tumbling away into a pile of debris, head starting to pound. The light of my pentacle went out, but Cowl said a word, and a reddish light replaced it. I groaned.

Cowl stooped over Robin's figure, a little ball of red light floating by his side like a loyal dog. "Wake up, construct."

Robin's eyes opened, but they weren't his eyes anymore-- they were dead white, glowing dully. I had seen those eyes before, but never in a body.

"Am I commanded?" he asked, his voice empty and dull.

"You are commanded. Tell me whose weapon you are." Cowl stooped closer.

Robin smiled, horribly, showing his uneven teeth in a rictus smile. "You have failed three times, Cowl."

Cowl actually backed up as Robin stood, moving with a parody of his normal grace. His body seemed to be hanging loose on him, the joints not moving like a human's would.

"You are commanded, spirit."

"You tried to command me once before. Because you thought I was a weapon. You failed then." That void-cold voice was amused. "And tried to destroy me once before, because you thought that I was a weapon, and you failed a second time."

Cowl backed up further. "I know you, spirit." He spat a word, gathering up his shadow around him as he backed up further. A tendril of it wrapped around Robin's ankle. Robin he looked down with a placid white gaze, and then stepped on it.

Cowl gasped and staggered.

"I am the last heir of Kemmler! You cannot-"

"Heir of Kemmler?" Robin reached down, grabbed the strand of shadow, and wrapped it around his fist. "Little wizardling, I was instructing Kemmler when you were still learning your gift. I was the repository for all his knowledge when you were still trying to prove that you had some glimmer of intelligence that he could teach to." He pulled the shadow tight, and started to reel Cowl in to him. The necromancer had started to shake, bracing his feet and his will and trying not to lose anymore ground, but he was coming forward inch by inch. As he fought, Cowl's little conjured light flickered-- the color was leeching out of it the closer he got. The more control Robin got of him. It was going the same dead white as Robin's eyes.

"I bear his knowledge, I have the marks of his hands on the very substance of my being while you and your fellow 'heirs' scrabble for crumbs of his lost knowledge." Robin gave a final, sharp, jerk, and Cowl crashed to his knees at Robin's feet. Robin knelt down and reached into the hood, lifting Cowl's head. "But I can teach you, little one. Here."

Cowl pushed at him, spitting spells and curses that weren't having any noticeable effect; Robin held him with a vice grip, his arm every bit as vulnerable and yielding as a girder. Cowl's voice raised pitch, still trying to throw spells, but Robin just countered them with the impatient flick of his fingers. Eventually the words faded to a frightened, gulping cadence of 'no-no-no-no'.

I'd never heard fear in Cowl's voice. I knew what he could do. I knew what he had done. And standing in front of him was something that could reduce him to begging out of sheer terror. Something exponentially worse than one of the world's most powerful, ruthless necromancers.

My stomach rolled and twisted. I had to block it out. When 'Robin' was done with Cowl, he'd come after me. He was probably pretty ticked off at me after our last run-in, after all.

"Vento servitas," I whispered. It was a bare tap-- I wasn't picking something up, just pushing it. Robin's low voice and Cowl's whimpering drowned out the patter-patter-patter-slosh of a plastic sports bottle rolling across a cement floor.

Cowl's whimpering cut off with a choke. I watched as Robin stooped forward, almost like he was going to kiss him, and breathed out a little ball of bluish light.

Like the corpse of a star. That's what I'd thought the first time.

You know. When it was coming at me. I still remembered how it tasted, sweet and cold and crushing and wrong. It drifted slowly towards Cowl, into the hood, and I heard the necromancer gasp. Somehow it carried, that little sound-- this wet, rattling breath. My stomach reeled again as I pulled myself to my feet, and it wasn't just because I'd taken a few knocks (a few knocks. Hah. I felt like a couple of football players had been jumping on me for about a half an hour). I worked at the plastic bottle in my hand, the sound of sliding plastic threads gratingly loud in my ears, but Robin didn't seem to hear.

And Cowl. Cowl.

Cowl went limp in a way that you just don't, if you're still alive. Robin let him fall and stood up, smiling down at the corpse with a gentle, satisfied expression. The ball of white light floated in front of him, about chest level, casting a snowy white light on a circle of bare cement.

"Hey," I said, stepping into the circle light, looking as confident as I knew how. "Nice job. Now cut it out."

"Dresden." Robin cocked his head. "You are being particularly stupid today, aren't you?"

"Maybe."

I knew I didn't look like much. Battered. Bruised. My nose was bleeding, I could feel smears of blood crusting across my face.

"You cannot control me, boy. You know that. The last time, you only lived because of trickery. You cannot command me now, you cannot play tricks-- and I am so much stronger, with a body."

I looked him in the eyes--those endless white lights. So fascinating. Beautiful, really, simple and sweet. You never want to look away. I didn't want to look away-- I wanted to get closer.

It was cold around us, cold enough to sting where it touched my skin. My blood was too hot; if I let the cold in, it would wrap around me and it would only be good. I let myself step towards him, hearing my heartbeat start to slow somewhere in the distance. "I'm going to stop you. I have to stop you," I mumbled.

"Witless little fool," Robin purred, reaching out to draw me close, his hands burning cold on my skin. "You cannot hurt me. I am death."

I relaxed into his grip. "I know," I whispered.

And then I brought my arm up, flicking the unscrewed lid off of the sports bottle with my thumb, and threw the last of the cleansing potion in his face.


	9. Chapter 9

Robin screamed, an unearthly howl that echoed through a space bigger than a bombed out department store. His spellbinding eyes snapped shut, and I saw his hands come up, clutching at his face, trying to claw the potion off.

And then the white light winked out and I didn't see much of anything.

But I heard him. I heard the thud as he fell, the rustle of clothing and scrape of cement as he thrashed on the ground. I heard him sobbing out his pain. I heard that unearthly, dead tone fade out of his voice until it was just Robin again, whimpering in the dark.

'Robin.' He'd told me it wasn't his real name, after all. Not that he'd tried too hard to change it-- honestly. 'Robin.'

Homunculus. Spirit plus body. A really, really strong spirit. Who knew where everything was in my lab. Who Cowl had tried to kill. Who had locked away his memories of Kemmler-- on my command, too.

He was right. I was really, really, really, really mad. And worried. Furious with worry. Going to wring his stupid neck for making me worry.

"It burns," he was whispering, like a mantra or a spell. "It burns it burns it burns ow ow ow ow-"

He was too hurt and confused to bother faking the accent anymore. Damn, I'd spent two weeks thinking how familiar his voice sounded, and I'd blamed it all on his supposed White Court powers. White Court my foot! How could I have been so dumb?

Why didn't he TELL me? It wasn't like he hadn't known how damn angry I was about it. How much I'd missed him, how guilty I'd felt. The jerk. The poor jerk.

I wrapped one hand gingerly around my pentacle amulet and concentrated my anger and worry.

At first, I thought I wasn't going to get anything. Cowl had demolished my shield, and the magical backlash had started a psychic throb in my chest and left temple. I had plenty of emotion to fuel it, but it was like trying to channel the flow from a fire-hose through the eye of a needle. Slowly-- I didn't push-- the light came.

He was folded almost double on the floor, panting. His pale skin and dark clothes were covered in dust and fallen plaster, with wet red patches where he was bleeding. He looked up at me with bloodshot, streaming eyes.

"They're gone."

"What's gone?" I asked, settling beside him carefully. I was tired as hell: sitting down felt good.

"The memories. I couldn't even destroy them but they're gone," he whispered. "There's holes in me. Harry, I'm missing parts of myself!" He looked like he was about to panic.

"Join the club," I reminded him. "Are you...?"

"It hurts. It hurts all over and the potion burned." He bit his lower lip. "Nerve endings. Not all they're cracked up to be. Forgot about that."

"You're going to be fine, okay? Your body, too." I wiped my hands off on my pants legs and reached for him. "Let me see your head."

He shuddered, but turned over and shut his eyes so I could examine him. There was a hiss of pain I turned his head-- a sprain, I was guessing. Nothing felt broken.

I frowned at his scalp. There had been a long, ugly cut before, bleeding out-- now there was a clean white scar, going right past the binding tattoo. It looked like it had had months to heal. All of the cuts on his face had healed, some leaving faint scars-- when I felt for his pulse, under the jaw, it was strong.

He let me examine him in an almost terrified silence for a minute, and then took a shuddering breath.

"How much trouble am I in?"

"I'm not exactly sure yet, but I'm going to give an estimate of 'lots'," I said, looking down at him, not sure if I should yell or hold him or start reading him the riot act. I stalled: I named him. "Bob."

He dropped his eyes, looking almost sullen. I gritted my teeth-- I didn't want to yell at him. I might sprain something if I tried.

"Why didn't you tell me?" I said, attempting a conversational, pleasant tone. It came out strained.

"We were going to," Bob said, cringing away from me

"The one about permission and forgiveness, and which one's easier to get?" I said, possibly a little sharply.

"We were going to. Then... he had to think I was dead! He would have come after me again, and you."

"Did you think I was going to tell him?"

Bob shut his mouth very tightly.

"BOB."

"You can't lie," Bob whispered. "Not well. Not when you're angry. And he was watching. He'd have known. Boss, please."

"I was..." I took a deep breath to center myself, and wound up doubling over coughing. "Do you know how much that hurt?" I said, when my lungs had cleared. "When I thought he killed you?"

"I know," Bob said miserably. "I tried to help. I really tried-"

"You should have TOLD me."

"I couldn't."

I shook my head. "Stars and stones, Bob, you got yourself a body under my nose. You shouldn't be able to do that. Spirits and familiars _don't do that._ That itself-- and what you did to Cowl--"

"I told you Plan B was a bad plan."

"Yeah." I shook my head. We had to hash this out later. Right now, he was bleeding and I felt like I'd been in the path of an explosion. "All right. Can you stand up?"

In answer, he shut his eyes and rolled onto his stomach, then dragged himself to his feet. It made his pale face go paler, and he still wasn't moving quite right. He had to prop himself on a wall.

"Looks like I can. Now what?"

"We're getting out of here."

He pushed away from the wall with a grimace of pain and stood up straight. "After you, Harry."

The door we'd come through was behind a pile of ceiling, now, so we picked our way through the rubble to the front of the store. Felt like miles, and I watched the floor carefully. If I tripped and fell over, I knew I wasn't going to want to get back up.

It had had big windows; they'd been boarded over sometime after it closed, obviously. Now the wood was broken and hanging loose. It didn't take much strength to push aside a section and crawl out.

A flashlight beam lanced into my eyes, and someone barked "FREEZE. Hands up--wait, Mister Dresden?" One of the GRV cops, the sharp-faced woman.

"Am I still putting my hands up?" I asked, letting the light of my pentacle die. Hopefully I wouldn't have to explain that one.

"Christ, no," Stallings said from somewhere forward and to the left, behind the flashlight beam. "Don't move. There's an ambulance on the way." The beam lowered from my eyes, and I could see the GRV cops staring at us, wide-eyed. Some were still holding guns-- most of them had been lowered by this point. On was hurrying towards us with a first-aid kit.

I could also see a swathe of darkness around us. There weren't any streetlights, or lights in the windows of the surrounding houses.

"Is anyone else in there?" Stallings asked, looking at the building.

"Not alive."

"All right. Sit down and wait for the ambulance. You boys look like hell."

"Had worse," I assured him, but I sat down anyway and let an officer with a first aid kit start checking me over. "Ow. OW." That second one was to the officer shining a penlight in my eyes.

"How many fingers?"

"Two," I told him, a spike of pain going through my head as he checked my pupils. "That's really bright."

He gave me a look. "No concussion. Your turn, Mister Raith."

"'kay," Bob said, and the cop moved over to where he was slumped on the ground, starting the same pupil-check, finger-count, who's the president routine.

Stallings crouched down next to me.

"Harry, I need to know something."

"Shoot."

"Whatever happened in there, it blew out lights for three blocks around us. The GPS in the cars are scrambled all to hell; our radios are fried. Is this something people need to know about?"

I squinted at him, confused.

"Contaminants, Harry. Fallout. Anything like that?"

I shook my head. "Magic spell-- blew up on the guy who tried it."

And Stallings didn't tell me I was crazy or get angry. He just nodded, looking relieved. "Sit tight, Harry. The ambulance is coming."

"Thanks, Lieutenant." I leaned back against the brick wall, shutting my eyes wearily.

Then my eyes snapped open. "What happened at the other sites? There were monsters. I heard monsters mentioned."

"They were being held off when we lost radio contact. Cleanup was going well. We were supposed to tell you that your backup was going to be delayed."

A sound started to drill into my brain. Siren: Ambulance.

"Wondering where they were."

"It's going to be okay, Harry," he said, patting me on the shoulder. "I think it's over."

The pitch-dark night lit up with red strobing lights as the ambulance pulled up. I was carefully packed onto a stretcher, and it was cooler and dryer and dark inside.

I woke up a little when I was transferred to a hospital bed, and then I fell back into the dark. The sterile, empty dark...

 

* * *

 

There was a light there. I stepped into it, unsteady on my feet.

Then, a second later, I strode into it. Well, me-- with a few differences. He didn't look like he'd been in an explosion, for one. He dressed in black silk, he kept his hair shorter (and neater), and wore a clean beard that screamed 'evil alter ego.'

Which he was, in a way.

My subconscious had taken a beating since we'd last met. There was a vicious scar across one cheek, and gray spattering his hair. He made it work, annoyingly enough.

"Looking good," I said belligerently, gesturing at my own cheek.

Yeah, he may be me-- my id, my darker, animal side-- I still think he's a jerk.

"I became more closely entangled with Lasciel's shadow than I meant to," he said stiffly. When I smiled derisively, he snarled. "I'm part of you, idiot-- if I'm hurt, you are, too."

"I know. She took pieces of me when she went. Bob explained."

My subconscious nodded.

"We have to talk."

"You could go back to your usual routine of vaguely symbolic nightmares," I suggested.

"No time," he said flatly. "You have to think through this right now. You won't have time when you wake up."

"Think through what?" I asked shortly.

"Bob is in danger."

"You care?"

My double rolled his eyes. "A source of great power and almost regular sex? That's what I _do_, idiot."

I glowered. "Point taken. Why is he in danger?"

"You know."

"Cowl is dead." But my subconscious glared, and I made myself think. "...but the rest of the Black Council is still around, and he just screwed up a very big deal for them."

"Yes. Now go further."

"I think that a member of the White Council is a traitor," I realized. I'd known that, but I hadn't thought what it would mean-

"They will try to destroy him, and enlist the help of the rest of the White Council to do it. Legally. No recourse," my double said. He ran a thumb along his sharp jaw, straightening his beard. "You can choose to let them-- he betrayed you. He is a uniquely dangerous being."

He was. Dangerous enough that it was only now starting to sink in-- and I'd been burned before by entities who'd wanted me to trust them. I _had_ trusted them. Chaunzaggoroth had almost gotten my name and Lash had been pumping me full of anger, trying to tempt me with Lasciel's denarius. So Bob had been with me longer. It just meant he was more patient.

That hurt to think. He'd been a friend, sort of a lover, and I'd mourned him when I thought he was dead. Now I didn't even know whether to be glad he was alive.

My double held up a hand. "He also saved Chicago. Again. He allied himself with you and protected you."

"To get to Cowl," I pointed out.

"He never lied to you. And he called you his friend. He said you changed him."

"Sure I changed him. I was the sap who gave him enough leeway to get himself a body," I said bitterly. "How did that happen, anyway?"

"Someone built it for him, of course."

"Do you know who?"

"I'm not completely sure," my subconscious said. "But ninety percent, maybe. Especially since it had to be someone who could get through your wards to retrieve the skull and free him. And the timing-"

"The timing?"

"He wasn't in the skull when Meghan the Henchmodel came to destroy him. It must have been just before that. What happened the night before that?"

"Thomas took me out for dinner," I remembered. "Wait, Thomas did this?"

"No-- but he knew it would happen. Remember, he introduced you to 'Robin Raith'. Thomas ran interference for the one who did."

That steered things in a direction I didn't like at all. Someone Thomas knew, who could get through my wards, who knew about my lab-

"Dammit, I told him NOT TO TALK TO HER."

"He's so good at obeying you, too," my double said dryly.

Molly Carpenter could get through my wards. She'd found me when Cowl blew a hole in Little Chicago. And she had a really delicate magical touch-- Bob's body was really, really perfect. Magically speaking. It fit him like a glove. And it was physically perfect, too, realistic enough that even getting close to him I hadn't ever suspected and I'd never asked why Molly had been in the morgue in the first place.

Studying bodies. And Butters had helped her, and then when they were ready Thomas had dragged me out to dinner so the coast would be clear.

Maybe he'd even suggested it to Butters when they'd first met a few years ago, when Cowl first showed up in Chicago. How long had he been working behind my back?

"I'm going to kill him," I said quietly. "I'm going to destroy that damn body and hand him back to the Winter Queen bound in iron. That son of a bitch. I trusted him."

"I still trust him," my double said calmly. "I knew who he was from the beginning, from the first time his magic touched you. Even while you were blocking it out, I knew. I trusted him and it saved us."

"You thought you could control Lash, too," I scoffed. "Pardon me if I don't count on your opinion here."

"She chose you in the end," my double reminded me sharply. "She died for you."

Low blow. My mouth tightened. "So I should just take it on faith that Bob is out for anyone but himself?"

"Don't take it on faith if you don't want to, but don't let them destroy him or Molly. You can't lose anyone else. I have enough trouble keeping you sane and stable."

"Sane and stable? I wasn't the one getting anger management lessons from a demon-"

"Yes you were, Harry," my double said. "In the end, it's all you."

There was a ringing in my ears, throbbing in time with my heart. But it wasn't a ringing, really, it was this high-pitched beat repeating over and over, like an alarm clock but a little quieter.

The beeps pulled me back to my body, all the distant aches and pains suddenly up-close and personal.

"Harry?" came a woman's voice.

I was lying flat on a bed or bedlike surface. It was just cold enough to be uncomfortable; the thin cover on top of me wasn't doing much.

"Harry, you're okay. You're in the hospital."

"Muh." My mouth was dry. It tasted like old blood and other, less pleasant things. "Murph?"

"Yeah. You're in the hospital," she repeated. "Robin's in the next room."

The high pitched beeping sped up and then stopped, suddenly.

"What happened?" I could see bright fluorescent light through my eyelids. It looked like it was going to hurt. I sucked it up and opened my eyes anyway.

"Heart monitor just died." Murphy was a cute blond blur beside me as my eyes adjusted. "I'm kind of surprised it lasted this long."

"The charm failed," said a tall, dark-haired blur, a frown in his voice. A Morgan-shaped blur. That's what I wanted to see when I woke up.

"That's too bad, but what happened?" I said again. "The circles. SI. The Wardens-"

There was a commotion out in the hall. A nurse or something like one hurried in, a fuzzy silhouette in blue scrubs. He saw that I was breathing and turned to the heart monitor, then backed out muttering about expensive and he never touched it and paperwork.

I waited until he was gone. "The battle? Murph?"

Murphy grinned, suddenly. As she swam into focus, I could see deep bags under her eyes, but her face was clear. "We won. Ghouls showed up at a few sites, but the Wardens and GRV held them off. Michael showed up at site five and put down some of those big gorilla ghouls."

"It was well-executed," Morgan admitted, his stormy face de-clouding to show just a glimmer of satisfaction. "We took no casualties. When the energy surge came, it drained the ghouls; their physical forms dissipated. It worked-- well."

He sounded surprised. I was surprised. My god, how long had it been since something had gone right? No casualties. No casualties at all. We'd actually had a victory.

"Many of the wardens are injured, and the city police, too."

"But nobody's dead." Another emotional cartwheel-- I didn't know if I had room for happy, sad, relieved, and angry. My stomach hurt, that hollow ache like I'd stayed up drinking coffee and not eating anything.

Morgan's face re-clouded, his broad face twisting into a grim scowl. He opened his mouth to say something-- and then looked at Murphy.

She raised an eyebrow at him.

When he looked back at me, there was wariness in his gray eyes, but he was obviously trying to speak more calmly.

"Did you know that the man called Robin Raith was a homunculus?"

"No," I said flatly, one toneless syllable that couldn't begin to convey how pissed off I was about it. "Not until after we had dispelled Cowl's circle. I saw the binding sigil under his hair."

It made Morgan pause. "Do you know who made him, and why?"

"Yes." I looked at both of them. "And I know who he is. He's my research assistant. That's 'why' he was made. He made a deal for a body."

Morgan's brows beetled up, and Murphy's eyes went wide. "But he was killed-" she started.

"His skull was destroyed," I corrected her. "He wasn't in it at the time."

"You didn't know?" Morgan asked.

"I just told you I didn't," I reminded him, managing not to snap.

"Do you control him?"

"No, his creators do. I don't think they realize it, though."

Morgan looked extremely confused. "Harry-- the High Council has been worried about that artifact for years. If they know that the spirit has gotten out of your control-- they will know what was done to Cowl. They'll order his destruction."

"I'll get a leash back on him. Not one he can wiggle out of, this time." I set my jaw.

"You will take responsibility for him?"

"I will." I had to. If I didn't, the council wouldn't just stop at killing him. They'd go further. They'd want to investigate who'd made him. They'd go after Molly. The Merlin would take any excuse to execute her. Probably me in the process.

"Does the White Council know I didn't make him?"

Morgan shook his head, looking pensive.

"Do you have to bring it up?" I was in pretty bad shape if I was asking Morgan to bend the rules-- but Morgan wasn't acting quite like himself recently. And he didn't veto the idea immediately.

Morgan's face went blank as he considered. There was a conflict on his face.

"Once you have taken control of the homunculus, ask me again," he decided. "The Council will be busy with the trial. "

"Trial?"

"Cowl's apprentice survived. There will be a trial."

I snorted. I tried not to think about cloak-kebab being alive when I was lying a few feet from him. "That'll be short."

"I hope so."

There was a deep weariness in Morgan's face. It was more than just the strain of the battle. It looked almost like doubt.

Murphy gave him a concerned look. He actually tried to smile at her, encouragingly, and I think I sprained an muscle in my forehead as one eyebrow made a jump for my hairline.

"Your face is going to stick that way," Murphy told me. "Come on, Morgan. I need a coffee. And Harry, you need more sleep. You look like hell."

"Right. Ma'am, yes ma'am."

They filed out, and I lay back. I really did try to sleep. But I was too tired, and had too much to think about. Too much input to process. Too much to deal with, as usual. Still didn't know whether to be glad or angry or worried about Bob.

I gave it up-- reached over, tugged the attachments to the heart monitor off of my skin. The thing was broken anyway. I took the thin blanket from the bed for a little modesty: the hospital gown was way too short on me for comfort.

I checked the room next to mine on the left-- there was a woman curled up in the one occupied bed. So I checked the right.

Bob was there, looking comatose. An IV was dripping something into his arm. His stillness would have worried me, but I'd seen him sleep. I'd slept beside him, even. He didn't twitch. He didn't dream.

He was only sleeping. And out of the tangle of emotions in my gut emerged... relief.

I reached forward and brushed his white hair off of his forehead. No response. I could picture the skull sitting on my lab shelf, the eye lights dark as Bob rested-- only now, the evidence of everything Bob had been through was right here. Stitches. Pale scars.

I had to be a bastard. I had to figure out what was real. Go back over everything he'd ever told me, and pick out what was 'technically' the truth, figure out what he'd meant.

He'd never told me he was White Court. Thomas had told me that. I asked if he was House Raith, and been stupid enough to take 'what do you think?' for an answer.

I could remember him standing in my office, eyes blazing. _This is me, trying to protect someone I care for._

I tried to be cold, emotionless. Find some catch. Some loophole where that didn't mean that he'd come in guns blazing so that he could protect me. He could have been talking about himself...

_What's he to you?_

A friend. First one I've had in a long, long time.

His human friend. The one he figured I was incapable of protecting. Sort of his lover. Mostly clueless. More morals than brains.

Be cold, Harry. He could have a floozy on the side. Some other dumb, chivalrous wizard who was in trouble with Cowl. Sure. He could have met them in the two days he'd been in his body before he'd come to work with me and sleep on my couch.

Think loopholes. Don't think about his shock when he'd seen the ruined skull, the way he hadn't understood that he was crying. Tucking the blanket over me while I napped in the lab. Him pissed off and wanting to kiss me.

...I wasn't seeing the angle where he was playing me. But hell, was I supposed to trust my own judgment on this? My subconscious had out and out said he trusted him. I was probably being influenced and didn't know it.

_This one I can promise-- I'm on your side. That's the truth._

I sat in the chair beside his bed for a long time, wrapped up in the hospital blanket and watching him sleep.

Finally, I reached out and took his hand.

"Bob," I said quietly.

The long body shifted. His eyes moved under his eyelids.

"Come on. Wake up, lazybones."

His voice was hoarse and fuzzy with sleep. "It isn't enough..." he started. "That I have to wake up. I have to wake up to bad puns."

I caught myself smiling, this painful, fond, relieved smile. Well, damn. Looked like the votes were in.

He kept talking, out of some obligation to tradition. "What is it about you that you have to make the bad puns?"

I stroked his wrist with my thumb. "We have to talk, Bob."

"I know." He sounded resigned. Frightened, even. "Break's over. Back on my head."

"It's not that bad," I told him. "Try not to worry."

"The High Council want my skull on a platter, don't they? I killed a wizard. Not a human, but still, that's enough, and with a track record like Kemmler and Du Morne-"

I leaned forward, ignoring the protests from the muscles in my abdomen, and pressed my lips against his forehead. His hand clenched around my wrist, and he made a little shocked sound, a cross between a squeak and a sharply indrawn breath.

"Ssh. I'm not going to let them hurt you. But you're going to have to trust me."

All of a sudden there were tears welling up and squeezing out of his still-shut eyes, wetting down his pale lashes. He took a shuddering breath and clung to my hand.

I tried to tell myself that I could still be making the wrong decision. That I was digging myself further in. Being played.

I didn't buy it for a second.


	10. Chapter 10

I spent twelve hours in the hospital, all told: midnight the night of the attack to noon the next day. They kicked me out pretty quickly. I hadn't been that badly hurt. My life runs on irony: the times I've had the worst poundings are the times I never even make it to medical care. I get were-humans giving me first aid in a lousy hotel room, or medical examiners doing back-alley bullet extractions. The one time I only get bruises, _then_ I wind up in a hospital.

I was happy to get out, back into real clothes, into the sun-- I'm not sure if it's all hospitals, but this one seemed to have the thermostat set a degree too low.

I didn't even look that bad: the worst of the bruising was on my chest, with a huge purple welt where the potions bottle had dug into me. Covered in a t-shirt I just looked like I'd been in a bar fight. Scrapes, scratches, small bruises on my face and arms...

Really, I've looked worse. Molly had seen me in worse shape, even. She still looked semi-horrified when she showed up, having procured for her old master certain small items-- like that fantastic Tiger Balm her mother used, and some herbal tea that would take the worst of the knots out of my muscles.

I drank the tea and watch Molly sit on my couch and look like she wanted to be almost anywhere else. Mouse came to butt her in the knee; she scratched him, but she barely smiled.

"Come closer, grasshopper," I said, relaxing into my chair as the tea soaked in. "I have a parable to impart."

"Harry-" she started uncomfortably.

"Just listen for a minute," I said gently.

"Once upon a time-"

She groaned and rolled her eyes. "_Harry._"

I continued, ignoring her manfully. "Once upon a time, there was a wizard named Harry Dresden who summoned demons when he needed hard-to-get information."

She'd been trying to ignore me, in that way that teenagers do when an adult is doing something embarrassing, but her attitude shifted abruptly when I mentioned demons. Her eyes widened, and she leaned forward.

"This wizard had a pretty reliable informer who he called Chauncy. Your standard demon. Scales and armor, hideous features, great ripping claws-- reading glasses. He seemed extremely reasonable. As if he was tired of the game-- the summoning, the fighting, it was all just a ritual and the wizard trusted him to play things square once all the formalities about 'I abjure you!' and 'I will rip out your heart, wizard' were taken care of.

"The wizard needed information about a cursed werewolf, and he just wasn't getting it anywhere else, so he called up Chauncy and they had a little chat. Chauncy was reasonable about the whole thing. Very practical. Gave a little spiel about joining the dark side, but the wizard was used to that; part of the formality. They understood each other.

"Chauncy's information could save lives. Someone the wizard cared very much about had already died; he didn't have any more time to waste. The demon's price was steep, but unfortunately not unreasonable-- one of the wizard's names."

Molly was going a little pale.

"There was a werewolf on the loose. Dozens already horribly dead. The wizard gave the demon the third of his four names and got the information. Deal concluded just as the demon had promised. But then the conversation turned to something else. Different information the demon just happened to have."

It was unpleasant to remember. I'd really thought I'd been on top of the whole situation, I thought I'd figured out the truth behind all the unnecessary posturing. I'd been so damn righteous about it.

I took a breath and soldiered on.

"The demon offered the wizard information he wanted more than he could remember wanting anything. Information about his parents. About their unnatural deaths. The history of his mother, her life and her death, things he didn't know and hadn't been able to find out. Family! Living relatives. But of course, the price for something like this..."

"Your fourth name," Molly whispered, her face almost as pale as her peroxide-white hair.

I nodded. "I almost fell for it. I wanted it so bad-- but I wised up just in time and refused. Chauncy had been working that angle from the start, gaining my trust. He'd been waiting, just _waiting_ to dangle that last bit of information in front of my face and get my soul. And I saw that 'reasonable', 'friendly' persona get dropped like a hot coal. Hell's bells, he was a damn demon! And I thought we had a friendly agreement, I was so stupid."

I shook my head sharply enough to make the muscles in my neck twinge. "Moral of the story. Creatures of the Nevernever don't care about you. They care about what they want. That's all you can count on."

"You're talking about Bob," Molly said quietly.

"Yeah."

"He was using me?" She tried to keep her voice steady, but it came out hoarse, with a little quaver in it.

"He wasn't trying to hurt you. He just-- wanted something and he didn't think what it would mean for you if things went wrong. There's a reason that creatures of the Nevernever have a reputation for being fickle."

"Oh." She sat, a shellshocked expression on her face, and stared past me, her mouth open. "Oh."

"Molly-- you know that if he'd done something wrong, the Council would have dropped the Doom on you?"

"I knew that. I just didn't think he would. Oh, God."

I spoke quietly and firmly. "You took a stupid risk. But you didn't know any better-- and now you do. And this time, it turned out okay." I reached out for her hand. "He didn't betray you, or turn against me. He told me the truth and helped me stop Cowl."

"Of course he told you the truth. He has to." Molly's voice was brittle. "That was part of it the whole thing, he had to 'speak no word that was untrue.'"

Oh. I'd kind of thought it was because he didn't want to lie to me. ...duh, Harry. Don't feel so disappointed; you should have known better.

"And he was supposed to protect us. Uh, mostly you," she admitted. "That's the spell I used. It seemed safer. And he said he wanted to help!"

"It was. That actually wasn't stupid," I said, my estimation of my apprentice's common sense regaining a few of the notches it had slipped. "Did he argue?"

She shook her head. "He said you needed protecting."

"...thanks." I raised an eyebrow.

Actually, given the meltdown Bob had almost had when I threatened to leave him behind-- he had wanted to help. He'd just charged forward without thinking about the consequences. Um. Wonder where he'd picked up behavior like that.

Subject change: "Nobody asked me if I needed protecting."

She gave a snort that showed me what she thought of that-- it was still a little watery. "We were going to tell you. He was going to spend a couple days with Thomas getting his feet and then we were going to tell you."

"I know. He told me." I leaned forward. My back spasmed, and I settled back. So much for that. "How did you meet him? And when? I specifically commanded him not to talk to you."

"It was about... three months ago? Two and a half? I left my phone here. And I wanted to come get it before you fried it." She very surreptitiously wiped her eyes-- I gentlemanly ignored the mascara streaks-- and looked at the trap door. "You were at the store, so I came in and tried not to touch anything. And I petted Mouse for a while, and then..."

She looked guilty; very kid with hand in cookie-jar. "I wanted to see the model."

"So you went down to my lab."

"And I looked at Little Chicago for a while, and I started poking around." Deeper guilt. "And... I was curious... and I shouldn't have... but... I touched the skull." My apprentice became an incandescent guilt-bulb.

"And?" I crossed my arms.

"It talked." The memory was still a little strange for her, obviously.

Technically, once she'd touched him, he'd been in her possession and didn't have to obey my commands-- like the one about not talking to her. Only extremely technically, but it was the kind of loophole he'd go straight for.

"He told me that you told him not to talk to me, and I figured out why pretty fast-- he's kind of a perv. Kind of _really_ a perv. But we talked and it was kind of cool. He said he could help me develop my magic, but I told him no. I figured I shouldn't try to pick up stuff that you didn't teach me until I had it figured out."

The common sense meter creaked up another grudging notch.

"The body thing came up, but not seriously. He said to talk to Waldo if I was curious, and that seemed harmless, so... I did." Her guilt and misery eased a little for a soft smile. "He was really nice. Waldo, I mean."

"When did the body thing get serious?"

"About two weeks after Waldo and I started going out. Which was about a week and a half after I first went to talk to him."

Mental note. Ask Bob if he gave Molly a hormonal push. If the answer is yes, deck him on principle.

"The more we talked about it, the more reasonable it sounded, and it would be a nice way to say thank you. And Waldo asked Thomas and Thomas got the supplies, and I did the research, and it seemed so simple." Her face clouded again. "I thought he was just being nice. I thought he really wanted to help."

"I'm sorry, Molly."

She'd started after almost four weeks. That was a month and to research and construct: sure, the ritual for animating a homunculus is simple. In the same way that walking a tightrope across the Grand Canyon is simple-- it's a straight line from point A to point B, but there's a million ways to screw up and nothing good happens if you do.

She'd done it, though. Off of a month of research and preparation; admittedly, with Bob helping, and not only did he have the knowledge, he would have been really _motivated._ But she'd done it, and she hadn't been stupid about it (well, besides doing it in the first place) and she'd achieved it perfectly.

I was going to wait a few decades before I told her how impressed I was.

Molly wrung her hands, chipping at the nail polish on her right hand with her left thumb. "What happened to him? Because I'd kind of like an apology."

"He's in the hospital right now, recovering." I watched Molly's face go from worry to sullen anger to wariness.

"Uh, I hope they don't give him an MRI. They're going to be _really_ surprised."

"No. He's going to be okay-- just needed blood and bedrest." I paused. She deserved to know that she'd been right-- well, if nothing else, she needed to, because he was going to be around and she was going to have to trust him to a certain extent. I just hoped she didn't lose the lesson about how dumb it had been. "He did want to help, Molly. He wasn't thinking and he didn't do it the right way, but he wanted to help. And he saved my life. You got lucky," I emphasized. "One in a million chance."

"I get it. Stupid idea," she said quietly, eyes shifting away. I knew that expression-- one of mine. Yeah, she got it. And she was kicking herself.

"Really dumb. Don't do it again. Next time ask."

"Right, boss." She was quiet for a while. "What are you going to do with him?"

I paused. "I gave him a choice."

 

_Okay, here's the thing about having an apprentice. It made me a teacher. An authority figure. A grown up. _

I couldn't blow up. I couldn't do something stupid, dramatic. I wouldn't abandon Bob. I couldn't pretend he hadn't screwed up.

"The council's going to want to know who's responsible. And stars, Bob, you took advantage of my apprentice-"

Bob's wince was barely visible, but his hand shook, and since he still had my hand in a deathgrip, I could feel it. Score one for my subconscious.

"Things are going to have to be different. I can't just put you back in a skull and call it even-- the council won't accept that."

"Do I have to give up the body, Harry?"

"You have to give up something." I sighed. "I could set up another relic, a home for you, and put the spells on it that the old one had-- and then add some binding spells of my own. I'd have to get some kind of a magical gun cabinet to keep you in. You wouldn't be out in the open, nobody could talk to you by accident-- no, you wouldn't have as much fun. The rules would be stricter. But give it a few years, we could start loosening up when the council stopped paying as much attention."

"So pretty much back to the status quo." Bob didn't look thrilled, but he didn't look so frightened anymore. Resignation tempered with a big dose of relief. "That's... that's actually pretty reasonable. Thanks." He wasn't looking at me, though-- he was looking down across his body. His arm was lying across the blanket, covered in bruises and scrapes. I watched him curl and extend his fingers.

I'd had a lot of time to think while he slept. "There's another option," I added. "But it's still a sacrifice. Bigger, even."

"All ears, chief."

"You swear allegiance to me. Permanent, non-transferable, loyalty-unto-death type allegiance. I bind you to my service with your Name."

He shuddered.

"But you'd keep the body," I finished. "I'm sorry, Bob. There's not another way that the council will accept. Or that I'll accept. You're too powerful, and Molly's in danger because of what you did. I need guarantees."

I hate being the grownup.

"Can I have some time to think it over?"

"I'll need time to work out the binding spells," I agreed. "Run some errands. We'll work it out tomorrow, okay?"

Bob nodded and settled back into the bed, shutting his eyes.

"I'm gonna need my hand back, Bob."

"In a minute, boss."

Fifteen minutes, actually, and then he slipped into one of his coma-sleeps again and I pried my hand free. I'd give him time to think, but I knew where this was going. Bob wouldn't give up his Name. But we'd get things back to normal; it would be fine.

 

* * *

 

I drove Molly home, and kept going-- it was late afternoon, and Butters would be at work. He's not very popular with the department, and he pulls a lot of second and third shifts.

The sun was setting over Chicago's Forensic Institute. It was a nice little corporate park, looking very warm and clean in the reddish light: it was a pleasant little place, for a morgue where I'd once been attacked by a zombie. That I was now walking into near nightfall.

Hey, all in a day's work.

The guard was used to me. He gave me a bored look and paged Butters to come escort me back.

"Hey, Harry." The little medical examiner-- wasn't looking so little, actually. He'd gained maybe an inch with better posture, and he was still doing something to his hair to make it lie flatter.

"Hey, Butters," I said, getting a full head of disapproval going. It came out in my posture, and the tone of my voice.

He gave me a look that was trying its best not to be sheepish. "Professional visit? Threaten the apprentice's boyfriend?"

"You helped make a homunculus," I told him.

"Oh. See, I'd been calling him a golem," Butters said. "So that's interesting. Technically speaking, is there a diff-"

"Butters." I made a threatening move towards his computer, and he cut off.

"Yeah. I helped Molly study up on anatomy-- wow, that didn't sound great." He pulled a face. "Literal anatomy: bones and arteries."

"Did you help her study the magical theory at all?"

Butters shook his head. "No, Harry. That stuff's way above my head. Bob and Molly started talking and it lost me."

"Ah." I paused. "You do realize that most spirits who'd actually volunteer to be put in an body aren't the spirits you should generally put in a body."

"No. I didn't." Butters got serious. "Why not?"

"Well, it gives them power. A different way to interact with the physical world. A shield against things that would normally affect them-- like thresholds. A spirit in a body can pass over a threshold without being invited. It'll be weakened, sure, but it can get in."

"In our case, though, wasn't that a good thing?"

"Well, yeah. And no." I looked down at Butters' increasingly wary expression and tried to explain it as best I could. "Creatures of the Nevernever don't really observe human customs like 'good faith agreements.' They're out for everything they can get, and they'll use every loophole and technicality they can to get it. Bargaining with them is a bad idea. Think of all the stories about djinn who make wishes backfire, or leprechauns screwing with people who try to capture them. They're based on real encounters."

Butters' eyes narrowed in confusion behind his thick glasses. "But this was Bob."

"I know," I said. "But he is a being of the Nevernever. An air spirit, to boot. They're a little capricious at the best of times. He's also really good about getting around commands-- like the one I gave him about not talking to Molly."

With an incredulous headshake, Butters sat down in his deskchair. "Okay. Now I'm really listening."

"In this case, you guys got really lucky." I'd stressed it with Molly and I was going to stress it here, because it was true. If they'd tried this with any other spirit, however friendly-seeming, it would have been very, very bad. "Bob actually did want to help, and he wasn't planning to take off the second he had feet to take off on. And Molly's bindings on him helped. But good intentions or not, Bob has the moral sense of a kindergartener. He didn't consider how much trouble she could get in, and if he did he didn't let it stop him."

"Trouble? Molly?" All of a sudden there was steel in Butters' eyes, and it made me stop and take a closer look.

See, Butters was a great guy. Smart, plenty of common sense-- but the supernatural had always rattled him pretty easily, and he'd worn the knowledge of his own shortcomings like a couple of lead weights.

He'd changed. Not physically-- well, not as much physically, although he was obviously taking better care of himself these days. But his inner self had subscribed to the Atlas school of physical fitness. This guy would not quiver and break down when faced with zombies breaking through the door.

This was not a guy I had to pad the truth for.

"Okay. Did Bob ever explain the Seven Laws of Magic to you?"

"Yep. And the penalty for breaking them."

"Okay. Well, there's only one alternative to decapitation-- another wizard has to take you as his or her apprentice and teach you the error of your ways. You'll be on probation for the rest of your life-- it's called the Doom of Damocles. Next slip, and you're toast. And your reputation takes a serious ding in the process."

"Got it," Butters said with a nod.

"I'm under the Doom. I killed my old teacher with magic-- but it was self defense, and a very respectable wizard named Ebenezer took me in."

Butters absorbed this without his expression flickering. "You started to tell me that Molly's power had gotten her in trouble before, and then stopped."

I nodded. Before, it hadn't been my place. Now, I didn't have much of a choice. Not if Butters was going to understand exactly he'd gotten himself into. "Molly didn't know about the laws when she started using her gift. She had good intentions, but zapping an addiction out of a friend's head still counts as controlling the will of another. And that's the Fourth Law."

"You rescued her. She's under the Doom." I saw the understanding dawn, a sick look coming over his face. "She never told me."

"I'm sorry."

"Poor Molly." His eyes shut. "That's not right. She didn't even know. But what does this have to do with Bob?"

"A wizard is responsible for what they create. If Bob had slipped up-- hurt someone, done something, that would be Molly's one strike. She'd be out."

The color drained out of Butters' face. "Did Molly know?"

"She did. But she trusted him not to screw up-- he might have done it without meaning to, that's the worst part. The more human a homunculus, the more likely it is to go haywire. Take the Golem of Prague-"

"Please, Harry. I'm Jewish. That's one of our fun stories," Butters cut me off sharply. "We knew that about that one-- Molly figured it out. It's a case of sensory input not transmitting right when you try to duplicate human senses. It makes the golem... sort of autistic. Molly got the spells right. Put in duplicate senses in case and failsafes, and I was there to talk him through it when he was shaping the body. We were taking precautions-" He groaned. "I was so proud, too. Did you notice he has a pulse? He has the rudiments of an involuntary nervous system. No brain, jeeze, that would have been crazy, but-" He smacked a hand on the desk. "I'm an idiot. I trusted him. I got caught up."

"You didn't know. And I'm not wearing my White Council hat today, so that counts for something." I kept my voice firm. "These are things you're going to have to know if you're going to date a wizardess."

"No. That's over."

I blinked. "What?"

"I trusted him not to get Molly in trouble, and I shouldn't have. And I trusted him not to use his mojo on her, and that was just stupid."

Oh. "Butters, we don't know he did something like that."

"It's really simple math, Harry," Butters said flatly. "Thirty-eight minus nineteen equals serious magical influence. A guy with my job? My taste in music? She's in highschool," he said, a look of misery slipping onto his face.

"She'd have graduated by now if she hadn't dropped out," I reminded. The bigger, butcher inner Butters could apparently beat himself up twice as well. "And sure, her last boyfriend was closer to her age and shared her taste in music. Then he got her best friend pregnant while they were both high. I can't imagine why she isn't looking for another guy like that." I frowned. "Look, if he did screw with Molly you can take it out of his hide when she's done with him. But I don't think he did."

Butters just shook his head. I could tell I wasn't getting through to him. "If there's nothing else, I'd kind of like to get back to work now." He swiveled his chair away deliberately.

"There's... uh..." At this point, it would be tacky to ask if he knew where I could get a human skull cheap. You can get them legally-- it just runs you a good amount of money.

Looked like Bob was going to have to settle for the lamp. He could have fun being a genie.

"You know the way out, right, Harry?"

Yeah, I knew. Feeling like a heel, I left.

My last stop before home was at Thomas' apartment complex.

Molly hadn't known any better. Butters certainly hadn't. My brother, on the other hand, shouldn't have been that much of an idiot and I could legitimately blame him for letting this whole thing go down.

"You idiot."

"I trust him."

"That's because you're an idiot."

"I wouldn't have let them do it if I thought he wasn't being sincere."

"He's a creature of the Nevernever, you dope."

"Don't you think I'm in a better position to figure out his motives than you? He likes you, numbskull!"

"Did you even think of Molly? It's not like she was in _danger_ or anything! Not like the Merlin isn't just itching to get her and me on the chopping block!"

"Homunculi aren't illegal. And you need someone to help you!"

"Yes! In the lab! In a skull!"

"Right, right, because you don't ever get yourself beaten the crap out of because you don't take backup!"

"I don't need that kind of backup! Especially if he's screwing with my apprentice's hormones!"

"JESUS, Harry, what do you take me for? I'm White Court, dumbass, I would have noticed-"

"Not with your head as far up your ass as it's obviously been for the past three months-!"

And so forth, for an hour.

I was exhausted when I got home. Too tired to sleep, which, let me tell you, is a real treat to experience. I spent the night working on the binding spells I was going to use on Bob. I did the one for his Name, first. I spent a lot of time on it-- putting off the other version.

I didn't like the lamp I'd found for him in lieu of a skull-- it would only have to last him a few paychecks until I got him something better, but it was uncomfortably inanimate. It made Bob more thing-like, less person-like, and I was seeing him in a distinctly person-like light these days.

So I put it off, and put it off, and put it off until almost dawn. Wrote a really thorough binding ceremony just in case Bob went over all Stepford on me and decided to sign away his freedom at the deepest level possible.

I was doing the right thing. He'd hurt people accidentally. He wasn't safe just roaming around. I had to do the adult thing. He didn't get a pass just because I liked having a friend around, and especially not because I was attracted to him.

I got to sleep just before dawn, sick to my stomach.

Being the adult sucks.

* * *

Someone knocking on the door woke me up earlier than I wanted to be woken up--but by the angle of the sun through my bedroom window, I'd overslept. I had a lot to do today.

I threw on pants and a shirt, staggered out into the living room and opened the door.

Bob was dressed in sweatpants and a clinging white t-shirt. He was carrying a plastic bag with what looked like the wreckage of his clothes in it. "You look like crap, boss," he greeted me cheerfully.

"Thanks," I said shortly. "Come in."

He blinked and hung back. "Um, Harry, maybe you should go back to bed. I can come back. Because I don't think you meant-"

"I'm not that tired, Bob. Get across the threshold."

"Hey, thanks." He brightened a little and stepped inside. "You still look like crap. Would it kill you to take a day off?"

"Looking for a stay of judgment?"

Bob shook his head fervently. "Actually, I'd rather get it over with."

Speak no word that is untrue. I turned the statement over in my mind and then nodded. "Then we will. I'll need Molly here, since she created you. She's still got control over you, that could screw up the new binding spells."

"Butters, too. I don't think he realizes how much of his own energy he put into this." Bob looked down at his body.

"That's going to be tense," I warned him.

He looked sheepish. "I assume you explained a few things."

"They're both pretty ticked off."

"Well. Yeah." He nodded, pursing his lips. "I guess I deserve that."

"You _do_?" I said, surprised.

"Well, sure. I wasn't exactly up front with them, and I wasn't even thinking about the Doom-"

"No, I mean you know that?"

He gave me a slightly hurt look. "I've had some time to think since then. I'm not dumb, Harry."

"You had some time to think before you brought Molly into it," I pointed out. "And you never really got the morality thing."

"Hindsight. It's not just for humans." He squared his shoulders. "It won't be a problem. And I won't let Molly get hurt. I knew from the start that you'd fry me if anything really bad ever happened to her."

"You're right. I would," I agreed.

"I am sorry," he said, tossing his bag into the corner and sitting down on the couch. "It wasn't supposed to turn out like this. It was going to be fun, after you got over being angry. Definitely no huge necromancer battles and getting the White Council involved."

"You didn't ask Cowl to try to acupuncture Chicago," I told him. "Or try to kill you."

He gave me a grateful smile; the incubing thing seemed to be under control, because it was cute in an entirely platonic way. I was going to miss the smiles. And the presence. Not that I wanted the apartment as crowded as it had been when Thomas was living here (and inviting women home all the time), but maybe I missed having another person around. A little.

Bob cocked his head. "You look like you're about to fall over. Go back to bed."

"I have things to do."

"Name them."

I waved a hand. "I don't trust you grocery shopping."

"So make me a list. And then go to bed."

I rolled my eyes. "What is it with you and getting me in bed?" And then I reviewed the words I'd just spoken and groaned inwardly.

Bob looked pained. "I resist the temptation to make 'bondage spells' jokes and you give me a straight line like that. Harry, that's just not nice."

"Stars, I am tired." I scrubbed at my face.

"You see?" Bob sighed. His voice got serious. "Harry Dresden. I can speak no word that is untrue, and I'm promising that I'll run your errands, following both the letter and the spirit of your instructions. Okay? I worry about you and the sleepless thing. Stop it."

I frowned at him for a second. "All right. I'll make a list. Grab the groceries, take Mouse for a walk, and call in some pizza for dinner. Two large with the works. I'll give you the cash. And be back here before six."

"He sees reason!" Bob said, raising his arms in thanks to the ceiling. "Instructions received."

I glowered at him, which just made his smile turn into a grin, and went to dig out the cash. "We'll do the ritual after dinner. Okay? ...have you decided?"

"Yep." He stuck the money in his chest pocket. "After dinner." His smile got a little brittle around the edges. "Can't wait."

"Bob-"

"I know, boss." He braced a hand on my shoulder and stretched up to kiss me on the cheek, and disappeared out of the apartment with Mouse while I was still standing there blinking like a moron.

I had an errand of my own before bed-- phone calls that I wasn't going to ask Bob to make. I got answering machines for both Molly and Butters: I asked them both to head over to the apartment at seven so that we could get it over with.

And then I went back to bed, and really enjoyed how comfortable it was for all ten seconds I was conscious.

The next time I started to drift towards consciousness, I was ready for it. I felt sated. Stiff, still, bruised and strained in ways that were going to hang around for a few more days, but I'd slept enough.

And the apartment smelled like a freshly baked pizza. Mm. Sausage, ham, pepperoni, peppers, onions, mushrooms...

I hauled myself out of bed and put mostly clean clothes on. Stopping in the bathroom, I ran a comb through my hair, not changing its basic configuration much, and then followed my nose.

A Pizza 'Spress box was sitting innocently on the living room table. Two pairs of eyes, dark and muddy-hazel, were focused intently on it.

"It's not going to run away, guys," I said with a smile. Mouse didn't look up, but Bob did, looking just a little embarrassed.

"We were waiting until you woke up," he said, the certain long-suffering tone in his voice implying that it had been longer than two beings should have to wait in the face of fresh-pizza smell.

"I'm up. Have at. But we're saving some in case Molly and Butters are hungry."

As if my word was a signal, Mouse's tail started to wag. Bob bolted for the kitchenette, grabbing a couple of plates. He handed me a slice, and fed one to Mouse before he sat down with his own.

I hadn't watched Bob eat much, when he was still passing himself off as Robin. He'd usually had whatever was lying around. Pizza was, in fact, new to him.

He took a mouthful and chewed, eyes shutting. His shoulders sagged, and a look of chagrin spread across his face.

"Bob? What's wrong?"

He swallowed. "This is incredible. Now I have to apologize to a bunch of dewdrop faeries, and they're always such pests when they're right." He sighed and eased his pain with another bite.

I ducked my head to hide a smile and ate dinner.

Between the three of us-- Robin didn't eat often, but he ate plenty when he did, and Mouse was just a bottomless pit-- we left almost half a box for our guests.

It was so cozy and domestic I couldn't bring myself to bring the bad news about the slightly tacky vessel that Bob was going to be stuck in until I got a decent skull. I didn't want to mess up our last chance to sit together like this.

Mouse perked up and looked at the door a second before someone knocked.

"Little early," I muttered, and went to get it.

It was Butters, and he didn't look like he'd been sleeping. Or doing much of anything else. His clothes were rumpled, and there were dark bags under his eyes. He did muster up a smile for Mouse, and gave him a solid scratch behind the ears.

"Hey, Butters," Bob called from the couch. "We saved you pizza."

The ME's thick glasses seemed to concentrate his glare into a focused beam of chilly anger, and Bob shrank away from it, looking taken aback.

"Uh... you're a little early. Go ahead, have a seat," I invited him.

"What are we going to do? Does Molly have to be here, too?" Butters asked, confusing me even more. He sounded like he wanted to avoid my apprentice.

"No. No, you just-- here, I have it written down. It doesn't have to be those words exactly, just so long as you understand them and you mean them." I fished a folded note out of my pocket.

Butters glanced over it, and then read it again slowly.

He looked up directly at Bob.

"I release you from my command into the command of the Wizard Harry Dresden," he read word for word off the page-- and he really meant it. I thought he was going to add 'good riddance' or something. "Is that all, Harry?"

"Yeah, sure, but-- you don't have to rush out. Is something wrong?"

"Look, I don't want to talk about it," he said, shaking his head and moving toward the door.

Someone pounded on it, and he jerked back.

I gave him a weird look and opened it.

Molly's makeup was thicker than usual, heavier and darker around the eyes.

"The van's right outside, Harry, just let me hurry up and finish this before-" her eyes tracked past me: "-Waldo. Shows up." She leveled her own death-glare at Butters. Her lower lip started to tremble.

I looked back at Butters, then at Bob, who was watching this with his mouth open and a look of pure confusion on his face. He must have read the same thing on mine; we shared a moment of indignation at a crazy world.

Molly pushed past me and pointed at Bob, leveling her finger like a gun. "YOU. The truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth."

Bob stared at her finger warily, then looked to me for help. I shrugged.

"Did you in any way, shape or form influence my decision to date Waldo Butters?" she demanded, her eyes moist and full of wrath.

"No!" Bob stared between Butters and Molly.

"Then I release you from my command, Wizard Dresden is your new boss." She sniffed angrily, and whirled on Butters. "SEE? You jackass!"

She pounded out of the room, but not before I saw tears running down her cheeks and smearing her eyeliner. Her heavy boots were audible all the way up the stairs. We three men-like creatures watched her in an identical helpless stupor.

Bob broke the silence. "What have you done?" he demanded.

Butters was gaping at my door.

"Butters!" I demanded.

"I." The anger that Butters had brought in with him had dissipated, and he seemed to have deflated.

I remembered yesterday's conversation. A horrible certainty struck me.

"You dumped her."

Butters stammered.

"You dumped my apprentice."

"I-- it was--"

"You made her cry."

"I-"

"GO FIX IT," I bellowed, pointing at the door.

The little guy broke into a sprint and cleared the living room in the blink of an eye, slamming the door behind him.

"What the hell?" Bob asked timidly.

I flopped on the couch beside him. "Butters convinced himself that you must have zapped Molly, or she wouldn't have started dating him."

"I got that," Bob said. "But why would that make him break up with her?"

"Morality thing. And pride, too, that he wasn't good enough by himself."

"But he was. I never touched her."

I gave him a look. "I had doubts, too, you know."

"Why?" Bob didn't look offended, just puzzled. "Harry, you should both know better. I may not be clear on the morality thing, but my sense of self preservation is just fine."

"Meaning?"

"Really, Harry. If I had used my influence on Molly-- seduced her, played with her libido-- what would you have done to me?"

I took a second to envision that. "...ah." Maybe I wouldn't have stopped at decking him.

"You're a scary guy when you want to be. Even if I didn't want you to trust me, I still wouldn't screw with your apprentice. All jokes about dessert items aside." Bob rested his elbows on his knees and put his chin in his hands. "What a mess."

"Yep. Charity's going to kill us both."

"We could always move to Canada."

"At least they did what they came here for." Grownup time. "We still have to do the ritual." I stood back up to go get the lamp and my notes.

Bob took a deep breath and sat up straighter on the couch. "Right. Right." He shut his eyes, and said a word. A breathy little collection of syllables that wasn't in any language I knew.

"What was that?" I turned back to him, repeating the word carefully to confirm I'd heard right.

There was a throb of power between us. Bob shivered and stiffened.

"Bob? What's-" I didn't say the word again.

Bob's eyes opened again, and he swallowed. "That's my Name, boss. Don't wear it out."

I gaped. Again. I was feeling really dumb this evening. And I'd slept and everything.

He gave me a weak grin. "Did you really think I'd give up the body if I had a choice? Go back to waiting in the lab while you went out and did stupid, dangerous stuff without me? And I've only just discovered pizza, and I've only had _one_ bottle of Mac's beer, not to mention the complete lack of sex so far."

"But... that's your true name. Your freedom, Bob."

"I wouldn't be free either way. I trust you, Harry." His smile solidified a little, and got a degree warmer. "You won't screw me over. You could-- but you won't."

"You shouldn't just trust wizards with your Name. It'll get you in trouble."

"You shouldn't just trust air spirits, Harry," Bob pointed out reasonably. "But this isn't about a wizard and an air spirit. It's about you and me. And that's different."

Gulp.

"My notes are in the lab," I said. I kept my voice steadier than I felt. "Come on, we'll use the circle down there."

I grabbed my robe, he took a spare blanket. I lit the candles with a mutter as we went down the basement stairs. The flames seemed to flicker in time with whatever was fluttering in the pit of my stomach. I ignored it and went to sort out my notes. Without being asked, Bob went to stand in the silver circle embedded in the floor, pulling the blanket tight around him so that the cloth didn't trail over the edge.

I wasn't trying to bind Bob inside the circle, technically. I was just using it as a focal for the magic I'd be doing on him. Still, I used a small silver knife to cut my finger, and smudged the blood across the ring. I was binding him to me-- there should be part of me in it.

I poured my will into the circle; it closed, containing Bob in a ring of energy. It was only to contain the magic I was using; it wasn't set up to contain a physical entity. If he'd wanted to, he could have stepped right out.

He didn't. Didn't move once, and it took almost an hour. It was a really thorough ritual. I bound Bob by his Name-- to serve me until my death. To obey me, to speak only the truth to me, to never harm me by word, deed, or inaction, and to protect with his full strength me and those I called friend. Lots of thees and thous. I went over it word for word three times, keeping up a low, steady cadence.

Bob stood stock still, eyes shut and mouth slack, until I finished and broke the circle.

I gave him a minute to recover, looking away while I scrubbed the blood carefully off the floor. Even in my own lab, I didn't want that stuff just lying around.

He started to talk, nervously.. "And I have to obey the second law as long as obeying it does not conflict with the first law, but I don't know about that zeroeth one-" and then his voice broke. I looked up and saw him hugging himself, teeth gritted.

"Bob?" I stood up quickly, moving to touch his shoulder.

"I didn't think it would be this heavy," he whispered. "I just need a second."

"You have a second." I wondered if I should back off, but he didn't let me-- he stepped forward and tucked against me like a kid, wrapping his arms around my midsection. I put my arms around him, sharing heat under the blanket. "You can change your mind, it's not too late to do it the other way. I could unbind you," I told him.

"Nope. I'm good," he said, his casual tone not very convincing given the way his arms were locked rigid around me.

I reached up to stroke his hair like I had when he'd crawled into my bed-- stars, only three nights ago. It felt like longer than that.

"I do trust you," he said firmly, I think mostly to himself. "You won't hurt me."

"I won't hurt you," I agreed.

I had a responsibility for him now-- I had to protect him like he was bound to protect me. Because he--

Oh stars and hell's fucking bell-stones. Bob was _mine_. He belonged to me.

In a way, I belonged to him, too. He was my responsibility, and I had to take care of him just like he had to protect me. We were locked together for the rest of my life.

I wanted to gape, or maybe jerk away or move closer or start crying, I didn't know what.

I'm the grownup.

"I'll protect you," I told him, and his shivering started to fade. "I promise, I'll protect you."

He cried for a long time, even after the shivering stopped, but he was smiling again by the time we got up to the last of the pizza and a bottle of Mac's microbrew.

He seemed to recover from it almost too quickly. I worried. Not that your average air spirit isn't just a little mercurial, but it was a big deal, what we'd just done. It was still making my stomach turn over. Maybe I just wanted company in my stress.

He was savoring a piece of lukewarm pizza when I ambushed him.

"Hey, Bob? Can you answer something honestly?"

He paused mid-bite and swallowed. "Duh, Harry. I can't lie."

"I don't want technically true. I'm asking if you'll answer me honestly."

He paused. "Okay."

"Any regrets?"

He frowned, thought about it for a second. "Not yet."

I could accept that.


	11. Chapter 11

The apprentice necromancer's trial was in a warehouse. He was pinned to the floor with the piece of rebar they hadn't bothered to take out of his gut.

There was a ringing sound in my ears. I didn't hear the Merlin pronounce him guilty, but I saw Morgan step forward, lifting his sword. He drew the hood of the grey cowl back, and I saw a flash of peroxide-blond hair-

"Rise and shine, Harry!"

The voice jarred the nightmare out of place, and I wasn't standing up in a warehouse anymore. I was lying in bed. I cracked an eye-- the light was pale and faint.

"Bob? What time is it?"

"Oh, five-thirtyish."

"Hell's bells, Bob." I rolled over and buried my face in the pillow.

"You said you wanted to get up early," he reminded me smugly.

"This is revenge, isn't it?" I muttered.

"Yep. For every time you ever woke me up after a long night out. Don't worry, you only have a hundred and six more to work off."

"That's less than a year, at least..."

"I think I'll spread them out at random," Bob said thoughtfully. "Come on, boss. The trial's at noon. Murphy already called."

"What does Murphy want?"

"She's coming."

"What? She can't come," I said, pushing myself up.

"Uh, technically she can. The Knights were invited to the trial-- Michael wielded _Amoracchius_ during the mess with Cowl's zombies, and Murphy put her people on the line."

"She wasn't wielding _Fidelacchius_ at the time, though," I argued firmly. "Let Michael come."

"Family picnic. It's Murphy or we get Sanya back from Europe really fast."

"No. No, no." I put my head in my hands. I needed coffee. I needed to call Murphy.

"She says don't bother calling to talk her out of it, she's not going to argue with you."

"She doesn't speak Latin."

"I do," Bob said merrily.

"You're not coming either!"

"Like hell, Harry," Bob said almost gently. "You accepted me as your protector. I remember. I was there."

I floundered for a second. "I-"

"Sorry, boss. I'm coming with you."

"I could command you to stay at home."

He shrugged. "You could do that. But you know I really don't want to, and it would make you feel guilty."

"And then you'd be manipulating me. Would that make you feel guilty?"

Bob blinked. "...yes, it would." He sighed. "Harry, please let me go. The council knows I exist. Morgan probably convinced half of them that you made me before you told him otherwise-- you won't gain anything by hiding me at home."

"What do you gain by going?"

Bob paused to think about it. "Peace of mind. The chance to see Murphy again-- she does have a great ass. The chance to take some of the heat off of us."

"Was the bit about Murphy's ass entirely necessary?" I asked.

"I can't lie to you," he said innocently. "And you did ask."

I grumbled.

"If it's any consolation, you have a cute ass too," he said, beaming at me. "And you're really sexy in boxers."

I gaped. "That's it. Out of my bedroom. Go."

Bob gave me a bow, a leer, and a wink in that order, and then stepped out and shut the door behind him.

I dragged myself into the bathroom to shower and shave. As I passed the mirror, I caught myself eyeing my reflection dubiously, trying to see 'sexy in boxers'.

Okay, this was ridiculous. I rolled my eyes and trudged out.

I had coffee, and then at a slightly more reasonable hour in the morning I called Murphy-- not with much hope, of course. No answer. Bob had made himself scarce, puttering in the lab, and I immersed myself in busywork. Bills, mainly, but the consulting job for the CPD was going to pay for them, and I was going to be able to buy groceries for the next month, too.

The bills helped. They washed the nightmare out of my mind's eye until it was time to leave. Mostly. Almost.

Just before we left I called Molly's cell, and got her brother Daniel. He could confirm that Molly was right there, in eyeshot, playing frisbee. Then I called Butters, and wound up waking him up after a night shift. I apologized lamely and hung up.

"They're fine, boss," Bob said gently, resting a hand on my shoulder. "And it's time to go."

* * *

The trial was a big deal, apparently. It warranted a gathering of more than just wardens-- it was a full meeting. Not in a warehouse, either, the address was somewhere in downtown Chicago. A nice area at that.

Whose idea had this been? Something about it made my skin itch.

The address was a steakhouse, of all places. It was modern and extremely expensive-looking. A small, tasteful sign on the door informed anyone passing that it was closed for a private function. Two wardens stood just inside the main doors-- Morgan and Ramirez. Two ward hounds sat to either side of them, looking like decorative statues until they turned their stone heads to look at us.

The Wardens nodded to me when I walked through the doors, and Ramirez held up a crystal pendant-- a dark magic detector. He swept it over my chakra points, and it glowed pure and clean over each of them.

Unlike the last time I'd been to one of these get-togethers, Morgan didn't insist I be checked further.

"Welcome, Warden Dresden," he said, a little stiffly.

"Thank you, Warden Morgan."

Ramirez turned the crystal over Bob. "So you're Harry's golem, huh?"

"Yes," Bob intoned.

I kept a straight face. Bob had warned me about this. He'd dressed extremely simply-- sweatpants and an outsized tunic that hid his lean, elegant body-- and flattened his hair down almost completely over his eyes. His body language had changed, too. He moved stiffly, deliberately, like someone who wasn't in perfect control of his body. His voice was a dull, distant monotone.

In short, he looked and sounded like the kind of homunculus I would have made, if I'd tried. Not that Bob had used those words exactly, but it had been implied.

Bob's chakra points barely got a glow out of the crystal, but when Ramirez swept it over Bob's forehead he got a near-blinding golden flare.

He blinked and lowered the crystal. "No offense, Harry, but he's awfully clean for someone who used to work for Kemmler."

There was a momentary tightening around Bob's shadowed eyes, but he kept his passionless expression. "Those influences have been purged," he said, his voice slow and measured.

"Really?" Ramirez looked at me, giving me an incredulous grin. I nodded. "Hey, you're going to have to tell me about that sometime."

"I plan to." Ramirez was one of the few I felt I could trust to let in on Bob's true nature-- later. Right now, it would be too confusing.

Morgan gave me one of those puzzled looks-- like he wasn't sure what to make of what I'd said. I'd been getting a lot of those since he soulgazed Murphy.

"Knight Murphy is already here," he said. "As is the Freeholding Lord Marcone."

"Marcone? What's he doing here?" I asked, unpleasantly surprised.

Morgan scowled, and for once it wasn't at me. "The police discovered the apprentice before we did. He was put in an ambulance before even Knight Murphy knew. Mister Marcone intercepted him and contacted us to explain that he had been taken and properly restrained. And that he was willing to waive his claim to him if we wished to put him on trial. An invitation was extended in exchange for his... help."

A businessman to the end. Now the Council owed him. Marcone had the right to execute lawbreakers in his demesne-- and he'd pulled strings to get all those police reinforcements, not to mention using his contacts at Monoc to coordinate things. Nobody could accuse him of not being involved in the necromancer's capture.

The son of a bitch.

"Thanks for the warning," I said darkly, and headed into the restaurant.

My impressions were very modern, very expensive, very soul-less. Muted colors, stone pillars. The only hint of warmth was the wood bar at the corner of the room, next to a two-story decorative waterfall that spilled down into a pool set into the floor--a ring of wardens surrounded it, all noticably armed with swords. Between their gray cloaks I could catch a glimpse of a pale figure, chained directly under the flowing water.

I controlled a shudder and looked away.

It was much less crowded than the last Council meeting-- half the attendance or less. The colors looked more muted, and the mingling auras all had a defensive flavor. It was like a constant smell of ozone. This one was quiet. The wizards there looked very serious, very solemn; there was no laughter in the air, no easy chatter.

There were only a few non-wizarding delegates sitting in a roped off section of tables at the corner of the room. Those I didn't recognized were clustered at a center table, trying to avoid the two figures sitting at either end. One light, one dark, both studiously ignoring each other.

On the left, John Marcone was in a severe black suit, and he had a long plastic case at his feet. He wasn't wearing his friendly businessman face today-- he looked as serious as a headache. At a small table to the right, the shoulder angel to Marcone's devil, Murphy was sitting quietly with _Fidelacchius_ lying across her lap. She was wearing simple black pants and a loose white tunic, like the dress version of judo pajamas. It lay funny over her shoulders. Something was padding her out. I was guessing a bulletproof vest.

I went to take a seat near the roped off section, close enough to talk to Murphy.

"Hey, Harry," she said nodding to me. "Hey, Bob."

"Hello, Sergeant Murphy," Bob monotoned, bowing his head so that when he winked it was almost entirely shadowed by his hair.

She raised her eyebrows, but didn't ask for an explanation.

"It's going to be in Latin. Bob can translate for you," I said.

"And you." Murphy's cheeks dimpled as she barely suppressed a smile. "Morgan shared a few anecdotes. About a bathrobe. And, uh-- 'I am a sorry excuse, a sad long day held me?'"

My face heated up. Trust Morgan to remember my Latinate screwups word for word. And I'd have been wearing my good robe if Mister hadn't taken possession of it earlier.

"It will not be a problem," Bob said, and managed to keep his amusement out of his voice but not his eyes. "I will translate for both of you."

"Nice shirt." I changed the subject gracefully. Really.

"Thanks. It's part of my new uniform. Well, for now-- I'm working on the embroidery on the real one still."

Bob's eyes widened, but he restrained himself. Me, I gaped. "You embroider?"

"It's kind of soothing. Some guys on the force knit, I'm embroidering. Charity made the Kevlar gamison, though." She reached up and rapped her knuckles on the center of her chest. It gave a dull thump.

"It looks good, Murph."

"It hides your figure," Bob said, still monotone, but he looked petulant. I kicked him discretely in the shins. "Ow," he said solemnly.

"Not in front of Harry. You're making him jealous," Murphy advised Bob seriously.

"Don't give him ideas, Murph, please..."

There were seven podiums set up in the back of the room, not yet occupied. The center one was unoccupied. I'd gotten here early this time-- and respectably dressed in a gray warden's cloak and my red stole. Maybe I'd get some brownie points.

I looked back at the ring of wardens around the pool and suppressed a shudder. I hated trials, and something about this whole thing felt wrong. All these people-- it wasn't right.

There was a murmur-- a back room opened, and seven members of the Senior Counsel stepped out. Maybe it was just me, but there was tension between them. They'd been arguing back there.

Murphy looked up. "...which one's the Merlin?" she asked in a low voice. Quick on the uptake is Murph.

"Beard and glasses," Bob responded, equally quietly. "Left to right, Listens to Wind, Martha Liberty, Ebenezar McCoy, Ancient Mai, Aleron LeFortier..." He paused. "The Gatekeeper."

"That's not ominous," Murphy murmured.

"Not at all, nope," Bob agreed.

I never asked Bob why the Gatekeeper scares him so much. I didn't think I needed to know-- or wanted to.

"This is a big deal," Bob was explaining to Murphy. "The Senior Council have all been deployed out to deal with the war efforts. That they've all shown up--"

"This isn't just any other trial," Murphy said with a frown. "There's something very wrong going down."

"Right."

The seven members of the Council took their places. The Merlin knocked his staff gently against the tile floor.

He spoke in Latin-- _The gathering will come to order._ He had a deep, rich voice that people paid attention to. The room went quiet, and we listened.

Beside me, Bob murmured, translating for Murphy as the Merlin quickly moved through certain formalities-- war reports from the wardens and from two of the delegates.

"Our main business today is a trial," the Merlin went on. "The accused has broken the seventh law of magic. He has dared to plead for amnesty-"

I frowned. There is no amnesty. There's the Doom, that's it, and somehow I didn't think anyone was going to take this guy under his wing.

"-in exchange for his knowledge concerning a hitherto unknown threat, the organization he claims responsible for the recent attack on this city. He claims to have been under thrall, released only after the death of the Heir of Kemmler, called Cowl-"

Murmur, murmur. I heard the odd gasp of outrage.

Bullshit. Double bullshit. They should have already cut off his head.

My old mentor Ebenezar spoke up, also in Latin. "Keep in mind that the prisoner has not been soulgazed to confirm his claims-"

"Because he has been possessed and damaged such that it would be dangerous for a wizard who attempted it," the Merlin snapped. "Do not speak out of place." I saw glowers on a few faces-- Martha Liberty was obviously on Ebenezar's side of this debate, by the fire snapping in her eyes.

One of the wardens in the circle turned towards the prisoner, and then back. "He wishes to address the council," she called out.

"I leave that matter to a vote of the council. Will you hear the prisoner's statement?" The Merlin asked. "Those in favor?"

There was a mutter of agreement.

"Those opposed?"

A few nays-- loud, but isolated. Mine was one of them.

"Wardens."

The wardens moved aside, giving the assembly a clear view of the figure in the water. It had been a man once, or a manlike thing. Now it was horrific, this pitiful wreckage of a human being. It was missing its right hand, right down to the middle of the forearm. It was covered in scars, burns, contusions-- there were swollen knots of damaged tissue on its shoulders, a thick tumorous lump in its chest.

There was a clatter. My chair, I realized. I'd bolted to my feet, the gesture unnoticed in a general wash of surprise across the room.

"My name is Vittorio Malvora," croaked the prisoner. "I have been under Cowl's thrall for three years. They've forced me to attack my own family..."

I thought the bastard had died in the Deeps, all those explosions. I'd just taken his arm off with a shotgun, he'd been burned and brutalized and about to get pummeled by a bunch of explosions. By the look of him, he had been pummeled by a bunch of explosions.

"Jeeze," Murphy whispered behind me. "How's he alive?"

Lash had told me. "Possessed by an Outsider," I whispered back, my face pale. "He was possessed by an Outsider and it liked him enough to keep him breathing."

"_Fuck,_ Harry," Bob swore, frightened. "Why isn't it already dead?"

Murmur, murmur went the crowd. Tones of horror, of shock.

"I don't want you to let me go," Vitto pled. When he looked up another ripple of revulsion swept through the room-- his eyes were white and blind, the skull around them misshapen. "Just a clean death, and protection for my soul. They'll come for me again if you don't help me. I can tell you where they meet, how many there are. Please."

"Is he still possessed, Bob?" I hissed.

Bob's voice shook. "I can't tell. Not through the water-- and there are defensive spells over him, I can't read anything. I can try to get through it."

"Try. Really hard," I said.

"Is the Wizard Dresden here?" the mangled vampire asked, craning his head left and right, trying to see through his blind eyes.

There was silence. Every pair of eyes in the room turned to me.

"I need to speak with him. Freak, you took my hand off! I'm in chains! Where's your courage now? Come and face me!"

"What do you want?" I asked in English, taking a step forward. I looked up at the Senior Council. They were watching me silently. Ebenezar was shaking his head. The Merlin gestured toward the prisoner, an incongruously polite gesture.

"Your people will die and you can't face a chained man!" Vitto snarled. "Where are you? Come and listen to me!"

Tables scraped. The wizards between me and the pool moved out of the way deliberately.

I took a step forward, and heard footsteps behind me. Bob and Murphy. Their presence at my back gave me a little extra courage. I moved forward slowly.

"Dresden?" Vitto demanded, his blind eyes still searching for me.

"Right here," I said, stopping a few feet away from the pool. Vitto only looked worse up close-- his spine had deformed, his legs were sitting at unnatural and painful angles. He was weighed down in what had to be a hundred pounds of iron chain, and the manacles on his remaining wrist and ankles were tight enough to bite bloodless, waxy-white skin. "What do you want?"

Vitto sat quiet.

"Dammit, what do you want?" I took a step closer--

Vitto erupted out of the waterfall, lunging straight for me, shaking off the chain like silly-string. His hand and feet ripped out of the manacles, leaving chunks of meat and strips of skin behind. He plunged his raw, bloody left hand into his gray cloak, and drew a stone knife.

I had bare seconds to raise my shield, throwing my left hand up in front of my face, pouring energy into the shield bracelet. It could stop a bullet, the heat of a fire, an enemy spell-

The knife tore through it like it was cardboard, leaving a track of pain through my body as if it had cut straight into me. And it would have cut straight into me, if a crushing impact hadn't swept me out of a way. Bob didn't have time to be gentle as he knocked me out of the path of the knife: when I landed a few feet away, a screaming pain told me that my shoulder had been dislocated.

Murphy drew _Fidelacchius_ and leapt in front of me. Bob moved beside her, raising both hands, and gold energy crackled off of his fingertips. Around us, there was shouting. Screaming. Pandemonium, power tangling as a hundred angry wizards gathered spells.

The wardens converged on Vitto, ringing him again, this time with swords drawn. I hauled myself up from the floor, leaning on my good arm and watched. Vitto looked smug, and that was pants-wettingly terrifying. He should have been angry that he'd missed his one chance. He shouldn't have a chance against the combined might of a dozen wardens and all these wizards. He _really_ shouldn't look like he had an ace up his sleeve.

Everything got very quiet again. The Senior Council was moving.

The Merlin led them, his face a mask of fury; he stopped a few paces away from the circle of wardens, and gestured. They moved to give him room, and he leveled his staff at Vitto, who watched him dispassionately.

"No amnesty granted. The prisoner is guilty of breaking the Seventh Law of Magic. The punishment is death," the Merlin said coldly.

Then he spoke a word, and lightning fell from the ceiling to envelope Vitto. I closed my eyes and the light of it still burned into my retinas and left me seeing spots. Thunder ripped through the air, a wave I could feel on my skin, and the air filled with the smell of ozone and burning meat. I could _feel_ the magical shock through the room, bigger than anything I could dream of summoning.

I opened my eyes to the sound of a croaking, ringing laugh. Vitto was still standing there. His cloak was in cinders. His skin had charred; he shook like a wet dog and shed it.

The growth on his chest... blinked.

I'd figured out he wasn't human anymore when he ripped free and came for me with a knife. Intellectually, I'd known. I just hadn't really internalized it until a red eye the size of a salad plate focused on me. The Vitto-thing waved its left arm, a disgustingly boneless gesture, and an invisible wall of force scattered the wardens around it like bowling pins. It took a step towards me and my defenders.

A wave of spells hit it, every wizard in the room flinging their favorite. My own _Fuego!_ joined the chorus of angry words, and I poured my energy into a gout of flame that joined with a dozen flames from a dozen other casters who worked with fire--

And kept pouring out of me as the Vitto-thing absorbed it. Fed on it. In a matter of seconds I'd gone on the defensive, desperately trying to stop my power from draining out of me. I jerked myself free of it with a gasp.

The Vitto-thing didn't bother with a speech. It held up his left hand, focusing the power it'd taken from us, and started a chant that wormed into my ears and flattened my brain. Something smacked me hard in the face-- the floor, I realized. I couldn't tell which way was up. The angles of the world didn't make sense anymore.

It had been that easy. As bad as Vitto's attack in the deeps had been, this was worse. Then, it had been human emotion, a weapon made of fear and guilt and darkness. There wasn't anything human about this; this was something else, something so alien that my defenses didn't even realize it was an attack.

It wasn't an attack. It was just a change, like the sun rising. I'd been in a world that made sense, and now I wasn't. Simple as that.

I stared in front of me-- I saw shape and color, but couldn't process it. There should have been a floor, a steakhouse. I knew that, but I didn't see it. I was somewhere without depth or proportion, not even the floor under my head felt solid. Something wet was trickling drop-by-drop out of my ears, mouth, nose. I tasted blood, smelled it, and my brain began to gibber in animal fear. Every drop took a tiny little piece of my power-- and it hurt. I was dying a tiny bite at a time and I couldn't fight it-- I tried to hold on and the effort made me so nauseous it hurt. I'd go insane if I moved. I should just shut my eyes and lie very still and wait for it all to be over.

Of course, I'd die. The Vitto thing would eat me, bite by bite. And Murphy. And Bob. The council.

Somehow, it was knowing that other people were in as much pain as I was that made me try again.

_No. NO._

I'd shaken off Vitto's power before. But I'd needed Lash's help.

Had she used my power? Or Lasciel's? Could I? I didn't even have something solid to hold onto, I couldn't even think.

And then a quiet little voice inside me said: _My name is Harry Blackstone Copperfield Dresden._

And that was true. That hadn't changed. _My name is Harry Blackstone Copperfield Dresden. My name is..._ I repeated it like a mantra. Again and again. _My name is..._

My brain started to process the input from my eyes again. I was still in the steakhouse. Bob was lying in front of me, very still, curled in on himself, Murphy beside him. Bodies were crumpled all around me, the wizards of the council all knocked out like I'd been, bleeding from their ears, noses, mouths. The blood was spreading across the floor with a purpose, shaping itself into sigils and lines.

EW. My mind started to gibber frantically again.

Aside from being really gross, I thought I recognized the circle. One of those explosive ones that they'd tried to set off around Chicago, only it was the Vitto-thing instead of a stone in the center of it all. I didn't look at the center. If I met the gaze of the red eye it would make the panic come back.

They were going to sacrifice the city, the whole city, to summon... what was that unimaginably big? What could the Vitto-thing summon with a city? What could he do with the blood of a hundred powerful wizards?

What could I do to stop him?

Nothing. I could barely move. All I could do was think.

But I could think. I could shield against it, a little...

A flash of inspiration. I could shield someone else. Shield who? We couldn't use magic. It would eat it. The more powerful the worse it would be. Less magic. Less magic. My thoughts started to whirl out of control again and I had to shut my eyes and concentrate on my name again.

Less magic. Weapon without magic.

Right.

_My name is Harry Blackstone Copperfield Dresden._ I focused on that as I shaped the shield. _My name is Harry Blackstone Copperfield Dresden._ I ignored the mind-bending chant.

I made a shield of reason and mundanity around one person in the room, a little bubble of sanity, calling on the power of my own name. Conjure at your own risk. I didn't know if it was working, at first-- then I heard the rustle of expensive fabric, and the snap of plastic latches being undone. The sound was so beautiful I almost lost my train of thought. _My name is-!_

A roar of sound drowned out the chant. The first shot missed, but the second one didn't, and the Vitto-thing's head exploded in a spray of gray and pink. The chant stopped. The world jerked into sharp focus again, the alien presence in my mind recoiled-

Our blood stopped tracing patterns on the floor, started to spread out and obscure the lines. The Vitto-thing made a rasping, angry sound through the hole in its neck and whirled on the source of the noise.

There was the solid chunk-chunk of a pump action shotgun, and the Vitto thing jerked out of the way as Marcone fired his riot-gun again. Two shots amputated the thing's entire right arm and tore bone and flesh off of one hip.

It made the windy sound again and started towards him.

"Dammit, someone get up and kill it," Marcone rasped desperately, his voice loud and frightened and so human I might have been in danger of hugging him, if I could move. "I'm out of ammo."

Nobody responded, but the white-clad figure in front of me started to stir. "Can't-" Murphy whispered.

"Murphy, you dumb bitch!" Marcone's accent thickened, taking years off his age and whole tax brackets off of his income level. "Get up and kill the fuckin' thing!"

"What did you call me!" Murphy dragged herself to her feet, five even feet of righteous fury. She wiped blood off her face and lifted _Fidelacchius_, taking a martial arts stance.

The Vitto-thing lifted its knife again and came forward on damaged, misjointed legs to meet her. Inhumanly fast-- but speed only gives you so much edge when you've got one arm and a short knife. Murphy was pale and exhausted and shaken and she hammered the thing with lightning blows that pressed it backward away from the slowly recovering wizards. The chunks the riot gun had taken out of it were slowly starting to grow back, but where she cut it it stayed cut.

Of all the days not to have a gun. To have a couple of guns. Not that I'd be able to use them, my right arm was a streak of pain...

The doors burst open, and Ramirez and Morgan staggered in, swords drawn, blood on their faces and spells on their lips. Distance had obviously softened the effects of the Vitto-thing's spell. They looked ready to cast.

"NO MAGIC," I yelled, although it came out as a gasp. Fortunately for me, Marcone and Murphy had shouted the same thing.

Morgan waved Ramirez to the back. "Help the Senior Council! Get them out!" he snapped, and then raised his broadsword and went to join the fight.

Murphy and Morgan moved together like a team of ballet dancers. His powerful sweeping blows cleared the way for her surgical slashes. They backed it into a wall, and Morgan sunk his broadsword into its shoulder at the same time Murphy drove _Fidelacchius_ through its eye and into the wall behind it. The knife clattered out of its hand.

It wriggled for a little while, and then stopped.

"He, uh... he was still possessed, boss," a voice said weakly. Bob had fallen in front of me-- he was pushing himself up now. Around him, the other wizards were staring to move again. Coughing, pushing themselves to their feet, making a general stumble towards the exit.

"Wait," Morgan bellowed. "This place is still warded-- help is coming. Wait until you can leave safely."

I looked at the burly Warden standing guard at the door, and to Murphy standing with _Fidelacchius_ over the crumpled heap of the Vitto-thing, at the sword-shaped hole bored straight into the wall, and then at the floor, crusty and rust-red with drying blood.

"Was he really, Bob?"

"Yep. I'm pretty sure."

"My head hurts." I rolled onto my back and decided I'd look at the ceiling for a while.

Inhumanly strong arms pulled me to sit upright, and my head hurt even more. It was almost a relief. It was a very normal pain. Nothing non-Euclidean about it.

"It tried to eat me when I cast on it," Bob said thoughtfully. 'Does that happen to you often? I mean, being eaten. Generally."

"All the time," I said with a nod. "Really, all the time. Still no regrets?"

"Hell no, boss, someone has to look out for you." Bob patted me gently on the shoulder.

There was a crack of thunder from the kitchen. Ramirez swung the door open, and a pretty young woman with old eyes and pissed-off scowl stalked in, leading a group of solemn-looking young men and women in brown robes.

Warden Luccio and the trainee wardens saw to the worst-hurt first. Some had been drained worse than others, and some of the smaller, thinner wizards were looking extremely wan. They started taking people out in pairs, starting with the Senior Council and going on to those most in need.

I dragged myself to my feet, with Bob's help, and went to stand by Murphy and the corpse. Morgan joined us, and we watched the room clear. Everyone looked shaken; nobody was even talking.

We'd all been hit where it hurt. These gatherings were supposed to be safe. A prisoner chained under water shouldn't have been able to take down the Senior Council. Every wizard here knew that.

"I feel sorry for whoever owns this place," Murphy said. "This is a mess."

"I've brought worse to our insurance providers. It will be open again in under a week."

We looked over.

Marcone gave us a sardonic little wave from where he was leaning on the bar. "What's going to be done with the body?"

"It must be destroyed," Morgan said firmly. "If the taint of an Outsider is in it, it must be purged from the earth so that it cannot be used again."

"How?" Murphy asked.

"Fire. A prayer over the ashes," Morgan said, looking sidelong at Murphy, who nodded.

I remembered shouting 'Fuego!', and the vacuum draw on my magic. "I don't actually want to pour magic into that thing," I said reasonably.

There was a snort from the bar. "Yes, of course, because magic is the only way to light a fire. Honestly, Mister Dresden. Join us. We've discovered the wheel, too." Marcone stood, selected a few expensive-looking bottles from the bar, and came over.

He passed a bottle to each of us-- mine and Bob's were high-proof vodka with different Russian labels, Murphy's was amber-colored and Morgan's was blue. "On the house. I should have killed the thing when I had a chance."

"White Council give you a good deal for him?" I asked sharply.

"Yes, Mister Dresden, they did," Marcone said simply, and unscrewed his bottle.

"Cheers," Murphy said, and did the same, drenching the corpse in what smelled like excellent brandy.

It had to have been a few hundred dollars' worth of alcohol. I could let it go to a cause like this, though. We soaked the corpse, left it in a puddle of mingled spirits, and stepped back. Marcone pulled a lighter out of his ruined jacket, sparked it, and tossed it onto the ugly heap of meat.

In the non-magical fire, the Vitto-thing toasted and charred and stunk. The five of us watched like mourners at a funeral, drawing a few stares from the last wizards to straggle out.

Vitto had been pulped; only Outsider magic had been keeping him in any shape at all; the bones charred like wood and fell into ash. His mangled body dissolved in the fire, burning down to a thick black ash.

Murphy set _Fidelacchius_ point down on the floor and knelt in front of it.

"In the name of God; stay out of my city."

"Amen," Marcone answered quietly.

Morgan looked at the pile of ashes-- at Bob, who'd dropped the 'big dumb golem' act sometime in the distant past hour-- at Marcone. At me.

"I'm going to need explanations," he said finally.

"Can you listen to them at McAnally's?" Bob suggested hopefully.

Morgan paused. Nodded. "It might be a good idea. Knight Murphy?"

"I want a steak. This big." Murphy made a gesture with her hands. My stomach agreed. You're supposed to eat after you give blood.

Not sure why I was doing it, exactly, I turned to Marcone. "John, do you want a beer?"

He shut his eyes, and the weight of the day showed in his face for just a second. "Right now? More than almost anything. Good afternoon, Mister Dresden. My people are expecting me." And he walked away.


	12. Chapter 12

McAnally's was half empty; too late for lunch, too early for dinner and evening drinkers. Mac didn't look surprised to see us, even looking rumpled and spattered with blood. He doesn't really ever look surprised.

We made uncomfortable small-talk until our food was ready-- Murphy got her massive steak, and the rest of us got sandwiches. I collected the plates and brought them back to our table, stepping neatly over the chalk circle Morgan had drawn, and sorted out the food as the circle closed around us.

We ate heartily in safety, and didn't bother talking until we were done.

I had finished, and was stealing fries off of Bob's plate when Morgan reached into his cloak and pulled out a stone knife. Vitto's stone knife.

I flinched back.

Morgan laid it in the center of the table and looked directly at Bob. "You're not as stupid as you're pretending to be. Tell me who made this."

Bob picked it up in a napkin and studied it with distaste. His eyes flickered wide, and he started to scowl. "Hell. I don't know who did-- it wasn't one of the heirs of Kemmler, I can tell you that. This isn't his style, and it's not like what I've seen from Cowl, either. They didn't go that far from him."

He laid it back down on the table, looking angry. "Definitely a necromancer, though. It's not Outsider magic."

"It's not? Then what's the spell on it?" I demanded. "It cut through my shield."

"It was supposed to." Bob gestured me closer, and indicated a series of runes engraved on the knife's surface. "It's got your name written all over it. Literally." The whole thing was covered in symbols, but I traced the line of runes down the blade, translating in my head.

H-A-R-R-Y-B-L-A-C-K-S-

I pulled back.

"This is a kill-Harry knife. That's what it's for." Bob glared at the thing, his eyes taking on a faint orange glow for a second.

"Why?" I said, frowning. "Why me? There were stronger wizards there-"

"None of them could break an Outsider's hold." Morgan looked up. "Did they?"

I looked awkward. "Well-- it's complicated."

"He's blocked Vitto's control before," Murphy said. "In the Deeps. Block-and-shotgun routine, just like today; you'd think the guy would learn."

"It's not possible," Morgan said, scowling.

"That's what you think. I wasn't four feet away; I felt him do it," Bob said. He looked over at me. "I thought you said it was you-know-who last time."

"She said she'd show me how to do it. I didn't know if it was her or me," I muttered.

"For the rest of the table?" Murphy suggested.

"He had an informer who helped him break the hold last time. She's toast, she couldn't have helped this time," Bob said.

"She also told me that I might have power over them. But she might have been lying."

"I don't think so," Bob said. "And Vitto didn't think so-- he wanted _you._ If he'd actually hit you, we'd all have died. I couldn't stop him. You think I didn't try? He shut me down. He took away my link with my body. I was stuck in my skull again." The orange glow was back in his eyes, brighter and angrier.

I found his hand under the table and squeezed hard. He sucked in a breath again and shut his eyes.

Morgan didn't see it, or ignored it. He was lost in thought, a conflict playing out across his weathered face.

"It isn't possible. It wasn't possible for a half-trained warlock to overthrow a Walker." He sounded like he was trying to convince himself more than me. He sounded like he was failing.

"I was there, too," Bob said coldly, his eyes muddy-hazel and lightless again. He still had my hand under the table. "Only as an observer, of course, even if DuMorne had brought me out there wouldn't have been much I could do. But Harry defeated DuMorne in a duel. And banished the Walker. Not that anyone had bothered to ask me about it."

"It isn't _possible._"

"Donald," Murphy said quietly.

"He can't be telling the truth," Morgan said, his face twisted up. "Dammit!" His fist came down hard on the table, making the plates rattle.

"There could be another explanation," Murphy said softly.

"There is no other explanation." Morgan's broad shoulders sagged. "I've been looking for one. But that." He gestured angrily at the knife.

"What does the knife mean, exactly?" I asked carefully.

"There is a traitor in the White Council. Perhaps even in the Wardens."

I stared. I'd known that. Known it for a while, even. But _Morgan_ had noticed, now? Things must be worse than I thought.

Murphy reached up and put a small hand on his shoulder, which he leaned against.

"I searched the prisoner myself. He had no knife-- and I would have seen a presence like the one that attacked us today. Nobody has seen him or been close to him but the Wardens and Senior Council." He put his head in his hands. "Someone gave him the knife and called the Outsider into him. Someone set a trap for the highest members of the Council and their strongest allies."

"Michael was invited. I was invited," Murphy said quietly. "Marcone didn't ask to come, did he? He was invited, too."

Morgan nodded miserably. "Someone called up Outsiders to attack the trainees last year. The Red Court has known our every move."

I guess it had been pretty easy to blame me. He'd never believed that I was innocent, that killing DuMorne had been self-defense. I was beginning to understand just how impossible it was for me to have beaten the demon he summoned, how ridiculous it must have sound to a Warden who'd heard every excuse before... I must have been a great scapegoat.

And now Morgan had to believe me. I was going to do him the favor of trusting him back.

"I've known for a while that there's another force working behind the scenes. At least Cowl and Vitto; he was behind a rash of killings last year. I think there are others, they've been trying to get to me for a few years now; I call them the Black Council."

Bob looked at the knife again, and added. "There are definitely others. Cowl is a necromancer, fairly vanilla as these things go. He shouldn't be trucking with Outsiders. Someone else in his club is, and they're powerful enough that he didn't object when they experimented on his apprentice."

Morgan still had his head down, but he was nodding his agreement.

"I've talked to Warden Ramirez about it before. And Ebenezar McCoy," I went on.

"Good," Morgan said. He sat up straight. His eyes were reddened, but he pulled himself together. "If we know we can fight them. We will hunt them down and kill them."

"Morgan, we're kind of in the middle of a war," I said, hating to be the pessimist.

"The balance is shifting," Morgan said. "There are new forces in power now-- there are three Knights again." He looked at Murphy. "And a human Freeholding Lord-- if we can trust him."

"He's criminal scum. You can't trust him any farther than you can throw him. But when it comes to monsters versus humans, he's behind the humans," I said.

"If he can protect just this one city, we could have a base of operations to strike from. And we have you, Warden Dresden." There was still a hint of his old skepticism in his voice, and frankly I was relieved. I didn't know if I could take a suddenly huggy Morgan. I'd left my guitar at home, and I didn't think I knew the all the chords to Kumbaya.

"And it's not like it's easy to bring something that big through the Outer Gates," Bob chimed in. "The Black Council had a lot of eggs in one basket with this summoning thing. And we screwed that up for them. You hurt them today, boss."

"I'm sorry, Harry, I know you like being depressed," Murphy said, mock-sadly. "Things may turn out okay."

I looked around the table and wondered how dumb I was for believing that. But you know? I did.


	13. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter NC-17

It was maybe another half-mile through the Nevernever to the place where the land of Summer coincided with my apartment. Well, half a mile subjectively-- distance never works right in the Nevernever. I didn't know how long I'd been walking; the long hike from the Summer Court's stomping grounds to the way home was already fading into one long blur of warm night and summer insects and the smell of grass and flowers underfoot.

My guide fluttered ahead of me, guiding me along the safest, if not necessarily the shortest path. She (he? It.) was a wildflower faerie, a luminescent, graceful little insectoid who seemed to be amused by the big human types blundering along behind it.

My brother, my apprentice, and my apprentice's boyfriend trudged behind me. Thomas had the good grace to look sheepish about the whole thing. Molly and Butters, on the other hand, were still, even a few weeks after the fact, firmly in that the giddy place you go to when you make up after your very first fight. Too happy to be together to muster much more than twin looks of guilty satisfaction. They were walking with their hands twined-- maybe it was that it was dark, maybe it was just being in Summer, but they didn't look so odd together.

Butters looked younger. Molly looked... timelessly feminine in a way I was trying hard not to notice. They'd both been given garlands to wear in their hair and swapped; there were oak-leaves perched in Molly's short blond hair, wildflowers on Butter's brow. They matched; the greenery in their hair and the blissful smiles on their faces.

Thomas noticed my glance back, and sped up to walk beside me.

"They look cute together, don't they? I thought that toast of Lily's was really nice, too," he said brightly.

As if I was going to let the argument drop that easily. I glared at him. "You get to explain to Michael what his daughter was doing at the Midsummer's Revel. You _do_ know that, don't you? And Charity."

"They said she could go out to a party. I asked," he said defensively.

"You didn't bother to mention it was a pagan revel, did you?"

"I was keeping an eye on them!" he objected.

"Really? When I saw you, you looked like you were keeping an eye on a pair of wood nymphs."

"Well-" the memory made Thomas smile brilliantly, wickedly, for just a second. "I didn't let them get in trouble. They didn't eat or drink or deal. See? I'm a good chaperone."

"This has got to stop. She's _my_ apprentice. I decide what she's ready for."

"Harry. You don't let her have much fun."

"That's not my job. My job is teaching her how to use her gift responsibly-"

Oh God. The words replayed in my ears and I felt suddenly extremely old. No wonder my subconscious was sporting so much gray around the temples.

"-not hooking her up with men twice her age," I finished, getting myself on firmer, less damn-kids-get-off-my-lawn territory.

"Nineteen, twenty years between wizards is nothing. You know that. I mean, jeeze, Morgan has at least thirty years on Murphy-"

"Yeah, but they aren't dating," I pointed out.   
Thomas gave me a blank look. "Uh, Harry?"

"What?"

"You're the one who told me they'd been going out to dinner all the time for the past couple of weeks."

"Yeah. She's teaching the new Wardens self defense and gun safety," I said, giving him a blank look back.

"Twice a week for three weeks?"

"Yeah! It's a lot to coordinate."

Thomas sighed. "Okay, Harry. Have you seen her right before she went out to one of these dinners?"

"Sure. She was waiting for him after a meeting of the Wardens, once. She was giving him a ride."

Thomas nodded. "How did she have her hair?"

"What?"

"Her hair. How was she wearing it?"

I blinked in confusion, and made a gesture over my head. "Sort of pulled back and up. In a clip in the back."

"Makeup?"

"A little."

"And him?"

"He had civvies on under his Warden gear. Uh, slacks, I think. Nice shirt."

Thomas just walked quietly, waiting for me to digest that.

After a moment, I said very quietly: "Oh."

"She wasn't going to wait for you forever, Harry," Thomas said gently.

"She wasn't waiting, Thomas-"

"You're an idiot."

"Maybe. But I'm an idiot with good reasons," I said quietly. And then: "And this doesn't get you off the hook for taking my apprentice to supernatural shindigs without my permission. And you're still explaining to Charity."

Thomas gulped and fixed his eyes on our guide.

I guess I'd known for a while that things were changing. I'd been through a lot in the past few years, my life had been shaken up and toyed with so much that having my world turned upside-down once or twice a year seemed normal.

And now my life was almost stable, and the people around me were getting shaken up. Finding relationships, new self confidence, new respect-- magical swords, new bodies...

Maybe it was my turn to deal with that.

Behind me, Butters said something that made Molly laugh happily, and he joined her, perfectly confident to break the silence of the Summer night.

_May you always laugh well together,_ Lily had toasted them, and I'd raised my empty cup along with the rest of them.

"Harry, are we almost there?" Molly called forward. "I'm starving." Her voice was giddy; she was still wound up from the dancing.

I sighed. I'm sure I'd been that young once. I just couldn't remember it.

Maybe it was another mile, instead of half a mile. I don't know. I walked it quietly, my brain droning along at about half speed. It had been a _really_ long night.

Our guide stopped, and started flashing at me, darting around an empty patch of air. I bowed: "Thank you."

It settled on a branch and looked satisfied.

I reached out to touch the air. "_Aparturum._"

The fabric between the worlds tore apart, and a gateway opened, outlined in red light. Through it, my living room was visible, looking cozy and mundane.

"Thank our guide," I told my apprentice.

She did, with a curtsy, and Butters followed suit with a bow. Thomas reached out with a fingertip to take its hand, and mimed a kiss over its tiny knuckles. The faerie's light blushed pink and it gave a bell-tone little giggle before pecking a kiss on his cheek and then darting away at top speed.

"Dork," Molly said, rolling her eyes, and reached for Butter's hand to step through the doorway in the air.

I grinned at my brother and waved him through, before following him and closing the gate behind me.

"All right." I looked around me, indulging in how comfortable and cozy home looked-- my couch looked extremely inviting right now. There might still be leftover chinese, if Bob hadn't gotten peckish, and I was hungry, too.

"Molly, don't get too comfortable. We're starting the history of the Unseelie Accords next weekend."

She groaned.

"But for now-- go home. Get some rest. All of you." I waved them at the door. "Go. Shoo. It's been a long night."

"I'm hungry," Molly said again, brow furrowing. She glanced speculatively at my icebox.

"Wendy's is open," Butters said sagely, and steered her firmly towards the door. "Thomas, you can find your own way home, right?"

"He's so butch," Thomas said in an undertone. "Harry, are you going to be okay?"

"Fine," I promised, and meant it.

I gave him a hug, and a gentle, brotherly jab in the kidneys, before I ushered him out the door and flopped on the couch.

My feet. Hurt. Getting my sneakers off was almost a religious experience. As was sitting down for a few minutes in blissful quiet.

My invitation to the Midsummer Revel hadn't been a social thing. I'd been there to repay a debt first and foremost. In my case, that meant sitting in on contract negotiation between the Summer Court and the White Council.

I'd sat in a quiet clearing in the woods, at a great spreading wooden table lit by the moon hanging over us, and talked safe passage and repayment. I'd reported on the attack of the Vitto-thing, fielding arguments from angry generals and holding my own under the Summer Queen's cold stare-- Titania doesn't like me much. And I definitely got the sense that she resented being part of war she considered the purview of little mortal creatures. (If you can count vampires as mortal.) I'd been quiet and considerate. I'd lent my memories and my voice to repay the debt.

I'd sat among those rustling trees for two weeks without eating or sleeping, the moon barely moving in the sky, the leaves rustling and falling still. When we'd gone back to the revel barely an hour had passed. Nobody had noticed that the Summer Queen and half of the highest-ranking members of the court had been gone for a matter of days. Time works like that in the Nevernever-- expanded or contracted, depending on who's feeling like what.

Just to show how nothing was wrong, I'd stayed to dance. And there's no telling how long that took.

The clock in my apartment said that five hours had passed. My body was telling me otherwise.

Not that I was tired-- the air of Summer was still in me, I was wide awake-- but the soles of my feet felt like someone had beaten them with a stick, the muscles of my calves were sore, and my brain was exhausted.

Mouse came padding sleepily out of the bedroom to check on me. I scratched his massive head, and he sniffed my knee and sneezed.

"Go back to sleep," I told him. "I'm fine." He looked satisfied, and herded back into my room. I lay my head back and closed my eyes. I was too awake to even think of sleeping, but I definitely wasn't up for alchemy.

Of course, I could think of something else that might be worth doing. Maybe.

I toyed with the blankets on the couch.

Okay, living with Bob had raised some issues that I hadn't really ever needed to consider before. Bob and I had a past- we'd done things that went beyond the realm of the purely friendly. Trouble was, while I was knew he was still a friend, I didn't know about the rest of it.

It felt awkward, a little, wondering if he was going to raise the issue again (Hey, Harry, remember when I didn't have a body and I made you screw yourself with a candlestick? Fun times, weren't they?) Wondering if I wanted him to raise the issue. I wasn't going to pretend I hadn't liked it. Or that I hadn't responded when 'Robin Raith' got a little too close for my comfort-- or that I had some moral stand about Bob playing fast and loose with my sexuality. I didn't. I hadn't. I wouldn't mind if he did it again.

I'd been waiting for him to make a move. Anything, past a little flirting, the tiniest barely-there innuendo. Nada. I'd expected him to act up like he had when he was being Robin-- but he'd kept his energy all to himself, kept his hands off, hadn't once crawled back in bed with me. A guy could feel a little abandoned. A guy could think that maybe another guy had moved on to greener, curvier, softer pastures. A guy could wonder if old arrangements had just been because he was the only warm body in the vicinity.

I mean, Bob had access to women now. I gave him the night off when he asked for it, as long as he swore not to use his power while he was off seducing the modern shepherdess. That barely phased him; he invariably spent the whole night gone, and would show back up at noon the next day looking rumpled.

I'd made the mistake of accepting his invitation out-- once. She was beautiful, small and curvy, hair like silk, returning his attention with these seductive smiles. I'd felt like a voyeur, like a third wheel...

Like a jerk. My hair is nothing like silk, and my body tends toward 'gangly.'

I'd gone home. I didn't want to ruin his night out.

I just couldn't forget the way he kissed, the weight of his body in my bed. He'd wanted me, once. I was 'sexy in boxers' and everything.

After a few minutes of couch-time, I got to my feet, and hobbled into my room for my robe and slippers, and opened the door to my lab.

There was candle-light coming from the bottom of the stairs, and the smell of a brewing potion drifted up. It smelled papery-- maybe that memory potion Bob was experimenting with.

I padded down the stairs. Bob waved, but didn't look up.

"Hey, Harry. Welcome back. Did you have fun?"

"Oh, more than I can say, Bob," I said, my tone longsuffering as I took a seat on the stairs.

"Wish I could have gone," he said, shaking his head. "You know, once, before that nasty little misunderstanding-- oh, well."

"You would have gone and chased dryads all evening."

"You're damn right I would have," he said with a chuckle. "Knowing you, you didn't let yourself indulge in anything interesting."

"You indulge enough for both of us," I said, maybe just a little testily.   
I planned on giving it a shot tonight.

It'd been a month, and I thought I'd waited long enough. Yes, I couldn't shake the nagging fear that I was about to get shot down, politely, yes I was worried that he might say 'yes' out of obedience, and yes if it were me, I wouldn't be that interested in me either.

But dammit, I was tired of waiting and guessing and depressing myself.

"So I have a little fun..." Bob chuckled, not reassuring me. "Come on, tell me what happened at the Revel."

"Well, Thomas was there. One of his recent clients turned out to be Summer Court. She liked her new 'do so much she invited him," I said.

"I'm sure he enjoyed himself. And behaved himself, those Summer Sidhe get prickly about being fed off of."

"Well, he may not have fed, but he didn't behave. He brought Molly and Butters." I said, my tone darkening.

"Oh!" Bob turned to give me a scandalized look. "So he's in trouble! How did the two lovebirds do?"

"A lesser knight challenged Butters for Molly's hand," I remembered.

That got Bob's full attention. "What weapon did he choose?"

"Accordions at ten paces. He beer-barrel-polkaed the guy into submission. He was the hero of the night after that." I shook my head, letting myself laugh about it now. I'd been playing angry mentor at the time and hadn't been able to.

"I wouldn't have thought he had it in him," Bob said, delighted. "Oh, he must have been popular with the ladies, after that-- a human musician. Sidhe Catnip."

"Sidhe catnip, maybe. But they'd have had to get through Molly. They didn't have a chance." I shook my head. Okay, I was a little proud of how they'd handled themselves. "They traded mantles-- she got his oak leaves and spent the rest of the night being his protector. Everyone thought it was hilarious; they were a big hit. I don't look forward to explaining to Michael, but it actually seems like they had a good time and didn't get in trouble."

"I wouldn't piss off Molly, if I were from Summer. Hell, I wouldn't piss _you_ off."

I smiled and told myself that I was more confident than I was. "No." Then I snapped my fingers. "Hey, Bob? Before I forget?"

"Mmm?"

I cleared my throat and enunciated: "I do not release you from your oath of loyalty, nor honesty, nor protection, but until I say 'be thou commanded' I bid you act of your own free will." I'd used the formula often enough by now that it rolled off my tongue even as braindead as I was.

Bob went very still for a second. "...okay. You're either giving me a night off, or there's something dangerous that you don't want to command me into."

"Night off," I said placidly.

"Really?" He turned back to me again, eyebrows high. "I didn't ask or anything."

"Really."

He fell into a suspicious silence, glancing back over his shoulder once or twice before he really focused on his brewing again. I watched him work, his pale hair and skin turned golden in the candlelight, and thought about how to introduce my plan. Nothing I came up with was very subtle. I wasn't capable of too much complex thought without making my brain-gears grind, anyway.

Hell with it. It's not like I hadn't embarrassed myself in front of him before. Immersing myself in ritual, I took the yoga-mat out of its corner and unrolled it on the floor. Then, I unlocked the small, non-descript box under my worktable, pocketing something just in case I wound up needing it.

The motions were familiar, and they had memories attached to them that boosted my confidence amazingly.

"How's the potion coming?"

"Steeping," he said. "It'll be a while."

"Any plans for your night off?" I asked, trying not to sound like I cared one way or another. Hey, if he wanted to run out to those greener, curvier pastures, I wasn't going to stop him.

"Not particularly," he said, suspicious again.

Here goes nothing. I mustered up some manly bravado, and with a whispered word put out all the light in the lab except for the burner and a single candle on his worktable.

"Hey!"

"It was too bright," I said reasonably, some of my worries melting away into the dim light. He looked good in candle-light. He always had.

"Fine. My eyes are better than yours anyway-- you do whatever it is you're doing," he grumbled, and started fussing with something on his worktable.

I stretched, and then shuffled across the lab to stand close behind him. I could feel his warmth through the layers of cloth between us when I reached around him to still his hands with mine. He'd picked up a pencil and had started to sketching-- now he was gripping it tightly, surprised.

"Can that wait?" I asked quietly.

He stood very still, apparently confused by my arms around him, my hands on his.

"Um. Harry?"

"Mm?" I leaned forward, leaning my cheek against his hair with a contented sigh.

"Uh."

I smirked, closing my eyes and wrapping just a little tighter around him. I don't get him speechless often; I was proud of myself. I stroked the palm of his hand with my thumb, and the pencil rolled out of his suddenly limp grasp and clattered on the table.

He cleared his throat. "Harry? Not to bother you or anything, but you're acting really strange right now."

"Strange, Bob?" I murmured into his hair.

"You _can't_ be this naive."

"Oh, one of us is definitely being naive, Bob," I said, lowering my voice. "I just don't think it's me."

He turned in the circle of my arms, and I looked down into his eyes-- the glow in them was brighter than the candles.

"Of your own free will," I said quietly, and tipped his chin up to kiss him.

It was chaste for a second, as warm and soft and comfortable as our first kiss. For that second, it was familiar; I'd held him before, in my bed. It wasn't so strange to have this solid, firm body in my arms.

Then he squirmed against me, his lips parting under mine, his hands suddenly on my back and in my hair, and it wasn't so comforting or safe anymore. I was still adorably monosexual, and the balance shifted between us to remind me that yes, this was a man, and he was in fact stronger than I was. I tried not to freeze up—reminding myself to breathe. This was Bob. We'd done this before.

And he wanted this. That drove the tension out of my shoulders, let me respond to the kiss. His lips still felt good. Full, soft, moving against mine as if Bob was murmuring a word-- then gone, just as comfortable had been turning into something more.

"Did you drink the wine or something?" Bob asked, letting me go as quickly as he'd grabbed me. "Oh, Harry, you should _know_ better-"

"I didn't drink the wine, Bob," I said, and didn't let myself reach out for him again. It was his choice, and I wanted him to make it free of influence. I couldn't command him to do this-- I wouldn't be able to live with myself.

But if he wanted it, that was very different.

Bob moistened his bottom lip with his tongue, looking grave. "Harry, if it isn't the wine-- why? This? Why now?" Less articulate than usual. As if he was distracted. Him and me both.

I hesitated only a moment before the words rolled helplessly past my lips. "Why haven't we?"

He blinked, candle-light disappearing and reappearing. "But this ... this is different then when..." He looked over my shoulder, seeing the mat, and shook his head. "Different. That was-- it was a deal we made."

"Oh, yeah, Bob." I tried not to smile-- it was good to see him flustered, just for once. "I buy information with my body all the time. Streetcorner Harry, they call me."

He snorted involuntarily, ducking his head to hide a sudden, bright smile. "But-"

"But maybe it wasn't entirely a deal between a wizard and an air spirit," I said, cheerfully using his own arguments against him. "Maybe it was us."

"That's corny, Harry," he said, trying not to smile and not doing very well. "Where do you get your pickup lines, Hallmark?"

"Lifetime," I told him, and then got serious again. "Is that a no?"

He shook his head silently. Held up a hand. His power sparkled from his finger tips, little motes of light dancing over his skin.

Very slowly, I leaned forward, and he stroked his hand across my face.

His power skimmed over my skin, a wash of heat that went straight to my groin. My eyes slipped closed without me telling them to, and I leaned forward to kiss him.

He was still stronger, still denser and leaner and harder than a woman, but as I let his energy under my skin, that stopped mattering really quickly. My inhibitions dulled, quieted, drowned out by the input of my suddenly supercharged senses-- I could feel the texture of his lips moving against mine, smell the lingering potion ingredients on his body.

We'd kissed before, chaste touches-- not like this, me pushing my tongue between his parted lips, him letting me in and then launching a counterattack that seemed to be trying to map the roof of my mouth.

There was flannel under my fingers, solid slender hips somewhere under that, and I was slowly becoming aware of how long it had been since I'd touched another body that way. Since I could let myself have anything. I'd stolen a kiss from Lara, but this wasn't cold, and this wouldn't hurt me, and I could finally press close to another body and not worry. It'd been so damn long!

I groaned against Bob's lips and fumbled for the tie of his robe

"Boss-?" Bob broke the kiss, his chest heaving against mine.

"Don't call me that while we're doing this," I growled, and shifted my hips to get an inch of clearance, just a little room to untie the robe. I was wanted, and I knew it, and knowing it made me confident, dominant.

"Mmm, Harry." He started pressing kisses against my jaw and down my neck, where he hit a patch of nerves that short-circuited my brain.

The tie fell open, finally, and I shoved my hands into his robe and peeled it off over his shoulders. Then there was cotton-- oh, the damn t-shirt. I peeled it off of him, pulling away from his lips long enough to get it up over his head and arms, and then there was skin, pale and smooth and just begging for my lips all over it.

Bob didn't protest as I tugged him backwards and pushed him down to lay on the yoga mat, but he started when my lips hit his collarbone and hissed as I dragged my mouth and hands down his chest, kissing and groping.

His nipples were flat, smaller than a woman's, but under my tongue the texture was almost the same-

"_Harry!_" he yelped, and I licked him again.

He was unknown territory; I mapped him with my lips and hands. I couldn't touch him enough, couldn't get enough of him under my hands and against my lips. When I hit the waistband of his loose pants I pulled them off with a growl.

More pale skin. White hair, trailing down his belly to...

"Need something, Bob?" I murmured, skimming my hand over his erection. Like mine, and not exactly like mine. The skin was even smoother here, over this hardness that was better than any of the toys he'd ever had me collect.

Bob narrowed his eyes, deliberately ignoring my touch. "I'm fine, Harry."

"Let me take care of that for you," I offered, curling my hand around him and stroking up once. His hips surged up into my grip and then slammed back onto the mat.

"Oh, no. Take your time," he said through gritted teeth.

"I'm not going to stop just because you come once, Bob. I know what you can do."

"Thoughtful, Harry." His eyes blazed, and he lifted his chin haughtily. "Wasted concern. I can take whatever you can dish out."

That sounded like a challenge. I'd been going to give us both some relief, I was straining against my jeans in sympathy with him, but if he was going to get MACHO about it-

"Whatever you say, Bob," I said sweetly, and bent down to turn him into jelly.   
It was a long, meandering search to find out where he liked to be touched. I admit I got distracted. There was so much to play with-- thickly muscled legs, surprisingly delicate feet; he started to moan as I pressed my lips to his ankle and cut himself off. It only made me more determined. I roamed, nipping and kissing and caressing and pinching and teasing until I found his weak spots.

Nuzzling the inside of his knee made his breath hitch, licking his neck made him tense all up and down. There was a spot on the inside of his thigh that made him shiver when I stroked it, and I played there for a while, alternating caresses with tickling, fingertip strokes. Except for those occasional shivers, though, he was defiantly still under my hand. I could hear him muttering.   
"Esse, fuī, futūrus --" in a strained voice. Conjugating Latin verbs-- oh, yeah, I'd been a horny teenager once. I knew how desperate you had to be before you broke out that one. "Nōlō, nōlle--" I grinned, and hooked his leg up over my shoulder, sucking hard on the hotspot on his thigh. "-o! Nōlō desinis!"

Maybe 'Don't stop' sounds sexy in any language. Maybe it was just Bob's voice. I turned my head to the side, caught the head of his erection between my lips and... got oral.

Salt. He didn't taste like a woman, he mostly tasted like salt, and he was so hot. Almost burning. All the textures, the weight and stretch of it when I slid my mouth down around him, exploring with my tongue.

His control broke. The sounds he made for me were wordless and pleading, full-throated cries of abandon. I sucked them down, holding him in one hand, stroking what I couldn't get my mouth around.

Bitterness, all of a sudden. Bitterness in my mouth and his hips pumping up in jerky, short motions, and a wave of energy, this tidal surge of warm-hot-pleasure-lust as he lost control.

I wiped semen off of my lips almost as an afterthought and fumbled desperately for the zip of my jeans. I was so close it hurt, and if I didn't get out of the damn pants-

The pressure of my hands was all it took. I didn't even get the zipper all the way open.

"Oh, son of a bitch," I muttered, shutting my eyes and letting my head fall against Bob's thigh, basking in sleepy pleasure.

"Harry?" Bob shifted, pulling back from me and disturbing my pillow. I grumbled. I wasn't done basking.

"Minute," I said, trying to move with him.

"What, asking for concessions now?" Strong arms guided me up to lay across Bob's solid body. "Don't you want-- oh." The flavor of his voice changed as he rested a hand on the damp thigh of my jeans. I could hear his surprise, and actually managed to get a little embarrassed about it. "Well, you can't wear those anymore."

He rolled me back onto the mat, effectively switching our places, and guided my arms out of the sleeves of my robe. I raised my shoulders as he tugged my shirt off.

"Hey, my jeans are messed up, not my shirt," I protested half-heartedly.

"Thank you for reminding me." My jeans and underwear disappeared, going somewhere with the rest of my clothes. I sprawled naked on my robe, and Bob eyed me up and down appreciatively. I did the same, noting the little sucked-red spots on his thigh and stomach with satisfaction.

He leaned down for another kiss, undaunted by the bitter aftertaste in my mouth. We tangled up carefully, getting precariously side-by-side on the narrow mat, pressed close so that neither of us would be pushed off the padding of the mat and my robe.

It started off sated and and slowly got hungrier, and we started to shift-

Bob stopped moving and pulled away. "What am I lying on?" He unclasped a hand and fished behind him, finally digging a tube out of the pocket of my robe. "Harry, what were you going to do with this?"

I grinned. "Gosh, Bob, I thought you were experienced and everything."

A white eyebrow lofted as Bob eyed the tube of lubricant, looking almost... nervous? "This wouldn't be a revenge thing, would it? Um, that little incident with the candlestick."

"And the three times after it with the toys," I added, my body heating up a notch as I remembered. I smirked. "Don't worry. I'll be gentle."

Bob blinked.

"And you haven't done this before, have you?" I realized. I could kick myself if I weren't too busy being absolutely, wickedly thrilled about it. "I know what it feels like and you don't."

"I know the theory," Bob said defensively. "I've _seen_ it done."

"Gay porn is not instructional material." I sat up, the last of my satiation burning off. "And it's no substitute for experience. Believe me," I almost purred.

"Oh, hell," he whispered.

I pushed him back onto the mat, looked at him spread out for me, marked with my lips and teeth. I realized I was breathing harder as the scent of sex flooded my nostrils. I could still taste him in my mouth. Suddenly everything was fast and hot again.

I uncapped the little tube and drizzled it across my fingers, eyeing him with a hungry patience. I was half tempted to comment on how on how the tables had been turned.

Bob licked his lips and put his knees up, thighs as far apart as he could get them. It did look appropriately like a yoga pose.

"It's gonna feel a little weird," I said helpfully, rubbing my thumb over my fingers to warm the stuff up. "But it shouldn't feel bad...."

"I _do_ know the theory." He shut his eyes, cutting the ambient light in half, and visibly tried to relax.

I traced lukewarm lubricant across his entrance, making his breath hitch, and used my dry hand to stroke his stomach. Patiently. I could have patience. Not that having him laid out in front of me wasn't giving me confusing but extremely hot mental images, but I remembered how much better it was the more time you took. I remembered _exactly_ how good it felt. Oh, and I was about to make him feel that good, nobody but me had ever done this before.

His face shifted when I slid the first finger in-- he looked almost puzzled. It's a weird feeling, sure...

And his body was a furnace. Hot, unfathomably tight, so much so that I worried about hurting him. If I didn't know it could be done by really personal experience, I might have stopped, even as aroused as I was.

Ten minutes and plenty more lube later, I had two fingers inside him and he was making breathy little noises as I played with him. That brave look of resignation had faded off his face and now he just looked dazed and pleasured.

I didn't know how much longer I could take it. He looked good, and he smelled fantastic, and he was wriggling on my fingers and I had these wild impulses that I was trying hard not to think about. I was seriously starting to wonder if revenge was worth it. I wasn't even touching myself and I was aching.

God, it was hard. I was hard, I was kneeling between his long, graceful legs and it wouldn't take much. It was impossible not to think about that tight heat around more than my fingers. The words were on my lips, all I had to do was ask.

Frustrated, I hid my face against his stomach, venting my aggression with little nips and kisses that made the muscles in his stomach spasm. My lips found their way to a stiff nipple and I lipped at it until he cried out, and a fist clenched in my hair-

"Harry. Please," he panted, tugging me away desperately, "please."

Hell, he shouldn't beg. Not when he was like this, not when _I_ was like this. I shut him up with a kiss, trying not to let our bodies touch. Too much of that and I wouldn't be able to resist.

His whole body arched and writhed, pressing us closer together-- my erection pressed firmly into his thigh and I ground against him helplessly.

A hand like a vise caught my wrist before I could plunge my fingers into him again. Bob gave me a desperate look. "_Yes_. Please."

His legs hooked over my shoulders and he arched acrobatically, his whole gorgeous, graceful body moving to put us together, his ass, my cock, and all I had to do was arrange myself just a little and take him by the hips and pull.

I shouted. Something. Maybe a word, maybe a sound, who cared, god he was tight and so-good-hot and it was nothing I'd felt before and even better than I thought.

I watched his face. I had to watch his face, because if I looked down between us I was going to lose it.

For the first few, agonizingly slow strokes there was tension on his face. Discomfort. Then he slowly started to relax, and it was easier, and it was better and oh, God, then he arched again and buried me inside him in a single motion and I lost it. Screamed his name and finished in two sharp thrusts.

I sagged over him, gasping.

"More," he groaned, and warm energy coiled in my gut, drawing the blood away from my brain.

Still inside him. Ready again.

Oh, God, the things he could do to me.

He dragged me towards him with his legs, urging me in, and I never even thought of slowing down. He wouldn't have let me. I drove into him, he rode me, moving with me, his whole body involved in this thing we were doing. I dug bruises into his hips, he left a handprint on my upper arm and the sight of him with his hand around himself as we coupled-- I was clinging to control when he finished, and then the feeling of him clenching around ripped another orgasm out of me.

I sat there dazed and softening inside of him until he pulled away and helped me lay down.

I felt something evaporate away from my skin. The chill of my lab started to penetrate again-- blessedly welcome. I was dazed. Lightheaded. Unreasonably hot.

A breeze washed across my forehead and down my body, raising goosebumps.

"...thank you," I said gratefully. A hand touched my forehead.

I opened my eyes and looked at Bob, let myself absorb what I'd done. I'd worn him out. His eyes were normal again, hazel and a little bloodshot. He was sitting down slightly awkwardly, and that was my fault, too. He looked boneless. Very, very pleased. And I'd made that mark on his thigh. And the one on his stomach. And that one, and that one, and that one...

I just enjoyed looking at his body, no lust involved. I'd need his help to get lust again. Say... in the morning.

No regret, no embarrassment, even at the livid marks on his skin. No sense of disappointment either, because he was here to hold.

There was a sense of curiosity, though. Tomorrow, I'd ask. After I woke up with him in bed and coaxed him into maybe just a little lust. And a huge breakfast, and maybe if we shared body heat the shower wouldn't be quite as ice cold--

Sometime, I'd get around to asking what took him so damn long.


End file.
